


Born on Wings of Steel

by LadyLotusMoon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 07:48:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2302064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLotusMoon/pseuds/LadyLotusMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel did not know why he was drawn to Dean in this fashion.  During his long existence, he had fellowship with his brothers, comrades in arms, bound together by duty and love of their father.  But, he had never experienced anything like the friendship he now shared with the mortal man sleeping before him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place after “Free to Be You and Me” in the fifth season and before the averted apocalypse.

The blare of a horn sounded as another barge slowly glided under the raised bridge and eased alongside an open slot on the dock. Port of Galveston’s Pier 10 terminal was loud with the organized chaos of vessels docking and departing and huge cranes unloading cargo overhead into train cars. The ever-present flocks of seagulls wheeled and dipped as they hunted for food, their sharp cries punctuating the scraping rumble of machinery and low shouts of men against the backdrop of slapping waves.

No one noticed the man in khaki pants and shirt watching from the shadows of one of the covered storage areas. When a crewman maneuvered a large crate down the ship’s ramp in front of him with a hand truck, the man stepped out into the unrelenting Texas sun. The patch on the front of his shirt read “Anahuac National Wildlife Refuge”. With quick, long strides, the man intercepted the crewman.

“I’ll take it from here,” he murmured, pressing a folded wad of bills into the other man’s hand.

With a nod, the crewman relinquished his burden and hurried back to the ship. Carefully, the man in khaki tilted back the hand truck and started pushing the crate forward. He had barely made it two yards when a flash of blue surged forward out of the crowd towards him.

“Hey. You there. Stop!”

Panic flitted briefly over the man’s face before he set the hand truck upright again, resting the crate on the ground. He turned to face the port police officer. The officer frowned at him, eyes hidden behind sunglasses.

“You can’t just take a crate straight off the ship like that.” The officer had one hand resting on his walkie talkie as he spoke.

“I have paperwork.” The man pulled a folded sheet of paper out of his back pocket, freezing when the crate shifted on its own.

“What the-” The officer’s frown deepened, and he bent over to look closer at the crate. “Is that an animal?”

“A bird, actually,” the man said. He gestured at the patch on his jacket. “We received a call that the ship found an injured bird at sea, and I was taking it to the refuge’s vet.”

“You’re going to have to come with me to the Security Command Center,” the officer said. “Any animal coming through a port of entry has to follow customs protocol.” 

The crate shifted again, and even amid the port noise, both men clearly heard the raspy moan. The officer’s reaction was immediate. His hand dropped to his holstered gun, and his entire body pulled up into tense readiness.

“Sir, step away from the crate,” he ordered.

“You don’t understand-” the man started to protest, then complied as the officer unsnapped the holster.

The officer pushed a button on his walkie. “This is Officer Rodriguez, requesting back up on Pier 10 for a code 10-26.”

Circling around to the front of the crate, the officer reached for the latch on the top.

“No!” The man held out his hand to stop him.

The officer let the hinged top fall open against the side of the crate and leaned forward to look down inside. Before he could even draw his gun, there was a screech, and a flash of movement in the sunlight that whipped his head around, sending his sunglasses flying. With a strangled cry, the officer fell to his knees, three parallel bloody gashes opening his face and his left eye dangling from the socket.

* * *

“Mm, baby, I’m gonna eat you up,” Dean crooned, licking his lips.

Brrring! Brrring!

“Dammit.” 

Setting down his fork, Dean gave the fat slice of cherry pie a longing look as he pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket. He glanced at the caller ID before flipping it open.

“Yo.”

“I need you to make a pit stop to check something out on your way back.” Bobby’s familiar voice rolled around his ear like worn gravel.

“What’s up?” 

To distract himself from the cherry pie, Dean watched the cute waitress bend over as she wiped down tables. 

“Half a dozen animal attacks in Texas. Victims are shredded up and partially eaten.”

Man, he loved a woman in uniform. Waitresses, nurses, librarians. Well, librarians didn’t really have uniforms, but the glasses and hair up in a bun thing, and tight buttoned-up shirts...

“Did you get that, idgit?” Bobby demanded.

Dean’s attention snapped back to the phone call. “Texas. When animals attack. Why is this one of ours?”

The barely suppressed sigh informed Dean that he had zoned out on some piece of information that would have answered that question.

“Because it’s supposed to be a big bird,” Bobby said.

“I never did trust that freaky yellow guy. Or his hairy elephant friend. What was his name? Snuffles?”

Dean stopped when he realized Bobby had hung up without saying goodbye. With a shrug, Dean slipped the phone back into his pocket and picked up his fork. He shoved a huge mouthful of heaven into his mouth then waved at the waitress.

“Honey, check please.”

* * *

_"Early in the morning sunlight_  
 _Soaring on the wings of dawn_  
 _Here I'll live and die with my wings in the sky_  
 _And I won't come down no more"_

Thumbs tapping out the beat to the Kansas song on the steering wheel, Dean pulled the Impala into a parking spot he hoped would be relatively safe from the seagull crap that seemed to cover everything. Turning off the radio, he popped open the glove box and pushed aside the emergency bag of Doritos to grab the stack of fake ID's. As he sorted through the plastic rectangles, he chucked the unwanted ones back into the glove box.

Sam's face caught his eye, and he stopped. It was the California driver's license Dean had made. A smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. He had typed an F in the gender section, and Sam hadn't noticed until it was too late. Sam must have accidentally left the driver's license behind when he took off.

Holding the driver's license between his first and middle fingers, Dean cocked his wrist to flick it out of the open window, then hesitated. He tossed it back into the glove box instead. Finally finding the ID he wanted, Dean shut the glove box and glanced in the rearview mirror to check his tie.

"Show time."

Dean slid out of the Impala and shut the door, giving the roof a pat.

"Be right back, Baby."

Straightening his shoulders beneath the slightly wrinkled dress shirt, Dean strode confidently into the building marked Security Command Center. He automatically noted the positions of the exterior security cameras in case he was going to need to make an after-hours visit.

The air in the building was nominally cooler than outside, but at least it was clean of seagull dookie. Front desk security was a young guy.

 _Good,_ Dean thought. _Easy to intimidate._

"Can I help you, sir?" the guard asked as he looked up over the raised counter.

Dean flashed his fake ID and slipped it back into his pocket, ignoring the guard's outstretched hand. Never let them get a close look.

"Dr. James Hetfield from the US Department of Agriculture, APHIS." Dean put a note of tired annoyance in his voice, like it was a pain in the ass to even be here. "I need to see someone about this alleged giant bird."

Grabbing the pen chained to the counter, Dean signed the visitor's log with his best unintelligible doctor's scrawl.

"Now would be good," Dean added when the guard continued to watch him.

"Uh, yes sir."

Less than five minutes later, Dean was escorted into a room banked with monitors and a row of computers being manned by uniformed staff wearing miked headsets. A wide, heavy-set, tanned man with a crew cut who looked like he belonged more on a tractor than in a room full of technical equipment, stepped forward.

"Chief Mitchell," the man drawled.

Dean's hand was enveloped in a firm, calloused grip, and the brown eyes that met his were sharp. He definitely was not dealing with a hick here.

"Dr. Hetfield," Dean said. "Thank you for seeing me, Chief. The police believe these local deaths might be from an animal illegally brought in through the port."

Several heads turned slightly in their direction. Deputy Mitchell gestured for Dean to follow him, and turned around. They walked to a small office at the end of the narrow room.

"Have a seat." Deputy Mitchell pointed to a well-worn chair as he settled behind the desk.

"One of my own men was killed," Deputy Mitchell said as he typed on the keyboard.

He turned the monitor towards Dean. The screen showed a frozen image of a port security officer standing next to a man with a large crate on a hand truck. It had the familiar, grainy, black and white quality of security camera footage. Deputy Mitchell clicked the mouse, and the video started playing. There wasn't any sound, but it was obvious the officer was questioning the man. The other man's face was hidden beneath the shade of a cap. He had a patch on the breast pocket of his shirt, but it was impossible to see what it was.

Suddenly, the guard's entire attitude changed, and his hand dropped to his gun as he circled around to the front of the crate. Dean frowned. The other man hadn't made any sudden moves. Maybe the officer heard something unexpected? Dean leaned forward. The other man's body language shifted from nervousness to fear as the officer started to open the crate.

The officer leaned over, and jerked back almost instantly, sunglasses flying off his face. As he fell to his knees, there was a second movement from the crate, then he was clutching at his throat. A flash of light hit the camera, then the man hastily closed the crate and navigated the hand truck around the officer's prone body. Deputy Mitchell clicked the mouse again, and the image froze.

"What was that flash?" Dean asked.

Deputy Mitchell shrugged. "Lens flare? It was a sunny day."

"Why do you think it was a bird?"

The two swipes from the crate had been fast, and from the camera angle, it was impossible to see inside.

"'Giant bird' were the last words my officer spoke before he died," Deputy Mitchell said grimly.

Outside, Dean walked to where the incident had occurred, still cordoned off with yellow police tape. Standing where the crate had been, Dean looked around until he spotted the security camera. The flash of light on the tape might have been lens flare, but then it might not. Dean had learned not to dismiss even what might seem like a trivial, commonplace thing. People rationalized what they didn't expect to see. Dean started searching around the camera, beginning at ground level and working his way up the wall.

He spotted something lodged into the bricks about a foot over his head. Reaching up with his right hand, Dean grasped the thin metal sliver, and pulled.

"Damn!"

Hissing in pain, Dean jerked his arm down and examined his hand. Blood welled in cuts across the pads of his thumb, first and middle fingers. The edges of the object were razor sharp.

Clenching his injured hand into a tight fist in an attempt to slow the bleeding, Dean reached into his pants pocket with his left hand. Retrieving his Swiss Army knife, he pushed open the plier tool with his thumb. Reaching up again, Dean used the tiny pliers to grip the object and wiggled it back and forth a little to loosen it before tugging. It came free in a small shower of brick flakes.

Dean frowned as he examined it. The damned thing looked like a...

 

"Metal feather?" Bobby's voice repeated.

Dean cradled the cell phone between shoulder and ear as he sat at the table in the hotel room, binding up his fingers with surgical tape.

"Yeah, and you can't tell from the picture I sent, but it's sharp as hell. Sliced my fingers up like pickles."

"Hm." Bobby paused. "I'm going to have to do some research on this one."

In the background, Dean heard a rattle and crash. He stopped wrapping his fingers and started to ask Bobby if he was okay.

"Balls," Bobby muttered.

Dean realized Bobby had probably knocked into something with the wheelchair, and kept silent.

"Call me back, will ya?"

Dean closed the phone in his left hand. He took a swig from the long-necked beer bottle on the table, and ignoring his throbbing fingers, reached for the map. The other killings had taken place at the Anahuac National Wildlife Refuge. It was too late to head out there and talk to the ranger today, so he'd drive out in the morning. Dean glanced at the empty twin beds. It was still early enough for a little socializing. He toyed with the idea of hitting a local bar and seeing if maybe he could score some action. Then again, with only one mouth to feed, he had some extra cash, and this was a good-sized town. He could cut straight to the chase.

"A den of iniquity." Dean said the words out loud as they popped into his head along with an image of Cas' terrified face.

He chuckled as he took another swig of beer. Dean had seen Cas stand toe-to-toe with archangels that could smash him into atoms without batting an eye, yet he acted like a scared kid when Dean took him to a harmless social club. Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd had so much fun, and he didn't even get laid. 

"Kinda wish you were here right now, Cas," Dean sighed. 

Finishing off the beer, he stood up. Might as well just hit the sack.

* * *

_"Higher than a bird I'm flying_  
 _Crimson skies of ice and fire_  
 _Borne on wings of steel I have so much to feel_  
 _And I won't come down no more"_

"Cas."

Wind whipping the trenchcoat around his legs, Castiel stood on an out-cropping of rock on Mount Sodom, overlooking the Dead Sea. At the sound of his name, he tilted his head and listened, touching Dean’s borrowed pendant hanging around his neck.

It was Dean. Not a call, exactly, and he did not feel a sense of danger or urgency. Castiel looked out at the flat, grey-blue water. The last time he had been here, it had been called Vale of Siddim, and it had been a valley full of tar pits. Castiel squinted at the southeastern shoreline, where once had stood the cities of the plain; before his brothers had leveled them all at their father's command.

He had come here to visit a local prophet living in a cave who allegedly spoke to God, but the journey had been for naught. With each dead end, it was becoming increasingly difficult not to become discouraged.

Dean had told him to follow what was in his heart, and Castiel truly believed his father still existed, somewhere, but... The universe was vast, and his belief seemed more like a foolish hope every day. Yet, Castiel was a creature fashioned of faith, made to serve He who made him. Without that faith, what was he? Without a father to serve, what was his purpose?

Flattening his hand, Castiel pressed the pendant to his chest and disappeared.

The inside of the hotel room was dark except for the slivers of light from the parking lot falling through the gaps in the flimsy curtains. Castiel sat on the edge of the empty bed and observed the occupant of the other bed. Dean and Sam must still be "taking separate vacations" as Dean had phrased it. 

Bare to the waist, Dean slept on his back, right arm bent over his head as if unconsciously defending himself even in repose. Castiel noted his fingertips were bandaged, the blood seeping through indicating fresh wounds. Dean's legs were tangled in the sheets; Castiel knew from previous nocturnal vigils he was a restless sleeper. Even as he watched, Dean moaned softly, frowning face turning towards him, bandaged hand clenching into a fist on the pillow.

Leaning forward, Castiel lightly touched two fingers against Dean's furrowed brow. Immediately, the frown lines smoothed away, and the fist opened. Dean sighed and his entire body visibly relaxed as he fell into a deeper, more restful slumber. Castiel lifted away his fingers, but remained leaning forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

The first few times he had watched Dean sleep, his motivation had been curiosity. Castiel, after all, neither slept nor dreamed. Now, it was something else. He had searched within himself for a reason, but unable to understand why, Castiel had decided to simply accept it. Sitting quietly in the dark, guarding Dean's sleep, easing him into gentler slumbers, gave Castiel a sense of satisfaction, of peace, almost. And peace was rare enough during these turbulent times to be treasured even in the smallest amounts.

Castiel did not know why he was drawn to Dean in this fashion. During his long existence, he had fellowship with his brothers, comrades in arms, bound together by duty and love of their father. But, he had never experienced anything like the friendship he now shared with the mortal man sleeping before him.

Dean's independence, at first incomprehensible, had become a trait he admired, and along with his bravery and loyalty, strove to emulate. After witnessing Dean's confrontations with demons and angels alike, Castiel realized he had not known the true meaning of courage and loyalty. Dean's mortal body was extremely fragile compared to the beings he battled, yet he did not hesitate or shirk from his task. Even, when in a rare moment of vulnerability, he confessed to being overwhelmed, those doubts did not manifest into weakness. And Dean was loyal to his small family out of a love and passion so deeply rooted in his being, it was part of his identity. What Castiel had believed to be loyalty in his brothers, was now revealed to him as blind obedience.

Through Dean, Castiel believed he was beginning to understand why his father loved humanity. They were becoming precious to him as well, these men he called friends. So Castiel sat quietly, the only sounds the hum of the straining air conditioning unit, the drip of a leaking faucet in the bathroom, and Dean's breathing. Eventually, the darkness faded to gray, and dawn began to creep into the room. Castiel waited, watching the light touch Dean's thick eyelashes, stretching lines across his cheek. Dean's hazel, green-brown eyes changed color; a fact which intrigued Castiel. He noted they were more green when Dean was relaxed, darkening to brown when he was distressed. Fingers of light pushed through the worn weave of the curtain, touching the tip of Dean's ear, his shoulder, collarbone, the edge of the tattoo on his chest. 

The radio clock on the night stand starting playing.

_"Sail on, sail on, I will rise each day to meet the dawn_  
 _So high, so high_  
 _I've climbed the mountains of the sky."_

There was movement beneath the closed lids, a brief flutter of eyelashes, then Dean's eyes opened. The light-suffused irises were the color of unclouded, clear jade. Then, he blinked, focusing on the drab hotel room, and the brilliant color darkened as Dean remembered who he was.

Even though Castiel knew it happened every time, he still hoped for the dawn when the jade stayed bright. He was, after all, a creature of faith. Standing, invisible to his waking friend, Castiel vanished.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The memory of Cas rescuing him from Hell had been completely lost in the confusion of returning to Earth. Dean wasn't sure how to process it, so he shoved it into the room with all the other stuff he tried not to analyze, and shut the door. The hinges were creaking a bit with the strain from the over-stuffed room, but Dean needed to keep his main head space clear to deal with the here and now. He didn't have time for introspective crap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story takes place after “Free to Be You and Me” in the fifth season and before the averted apocalypse.

_"Without my wings you know I'd surely die_  
 _I found my freedom."_

Dean woke up with sunlight warming his face. For a moment, he was waking up in his bedroom, Saturday morning cartoons waiting to be watched on the t.v. downstairs, the smell of his mother's pancakes wafting through the house. Then, he took in the dingy hotel room around him. Sighing, he reached over and slapped off the radio clock alarm. Dean sat up and rubbed his face, wincing at the injured fingers he had forgotten about. Waking up was often a process of rediscovering the previous day's bodily damage.

Throwing back the covers, Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed, stretching. Actually, he had slept pretty good. It felt like he'd gotten more than his usual restless four hours. Yawning, he stood up and scratched his stomach, noting the healthy-sized morning hard-on tenting the front of his boxers. He'd take care of it in the shower. Shuffling into the doorless bathroom, he turned on the shower and took a quick pee while the water heated up.

Stepping into the shower, Dean pulled the mildew-spotted curtain closed and stood under the spray of warm water. For a moment, he let the spray hit his neck and shoulders, loosening perpetually knotted muscles, then he grabbed the bar of soap and started lathering up. Because of his injured fingers, he decided to wank off left-handed. He gave it a few easy, soapy strokes as he mentally tossed around erotic images, then he remembered the hot waitress from the diner last night.

He pictured the waitress bent forward over the table, panties around her ankles, skirt hiked up to her waist. Pressing his right palm against the tile, he braced his feet a little wider as he stroked faster. The girl's waist thickened, back becoming broader, and Dean was screwing a naked guy on the table. 

His stroking faltered, then resumed. Not that he was a regular switch-hitter, but he'd had sex with guys before. He loved women: the contrast of their softness against the hard planes of his own body, their scent, the little involuntary sounds in his ear when he hit the right spot. But, being with a woman required a certain amount of restraint. There were times, especially when a hunt went real bad, that he needed the release of sex, but didn't trust himself to be gentle enough. That was usually when he'd bat for the other team.

So, when the wank fantasy turned into guy sex, he went with the flow, hips rocking forward as he moved towards orgasm. At the moment of release, he let his forehead rest again the tile, and Cas' face flashed through his mind.

"What the hell?"

Dean's eyes snapped open. He frowned as he rinsed off the wall and quickly shampooed his hair. That was weird. Maybe because he had thought of Cas and the brothel last night? 

Turning off the water, he stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, briskly drying off. He wrapped the towel around his waist and used another one to rub his face and hair dry, slinging it around his neck. He stood in front of the sink, squirting a dollop of shaving cream into his left palm, and smoothed it over his lower face and neck. He carefully started shaving, holding the razor awkwardly with his injured fingers.

Finished, he bent down and rinsed off his face, straightening and patting dry with the towel around his neck. In the mirror, he caught the reflection of the hand print burn on his upper arm, and he hesitated.

When Cas had brought him back, all of Dean's scars had been healed, and he was left with only this one. It was like all those years of being clawed and slashed open and beaten to crap had never happened. Reaching across his chest, Dean traced the edges of the raised scar with his fingertips.

He wondered where Cas was right now, and how the 'finding God' gig was going.

* * *

Invisible, Castiel watched the pilgrims finish the _kora_ , the walk around the Jokhang temple, marked by four large stone incense burners at each of the corners, then enter the square and begin praying and prostrating themselves in front of the temple. The sky curved over the gilded bronze tiled roof like an overturned blue bowl, the edge trimmed by the misty, purple-grey Kunlun mountains. Along the eastern side of the yard, rows of votive candles created a path into the main hall, but Castiel was not taking that path. He was here to see a dying Tibetan monk, in one of the inner shrines closed off to the general public, where only the most venerable were allowed to enter.

Without natural light, the inside of the shrine was lit only by candles, and the air was thick with smoke and incense. An older monk, bald head bent forward, sat in lotus position before a golden statue of the Buddha, red robes draping his thin frame. Behind a screen at the back of the small room, several rows of monks chanted softly, touching their foreheads to the ground in unison.

Castiel nodded to the Reaper standing a respectful distance by one of the carved pillars. The Reaper, dressed in traditional monk garb, bowed, raising pressed palms to his forehead. The monk's death must be imminent. Castiel sank into a cross-legged seating position in front of the monk, trenchcoat spreading out on the floor around him. The monk raised his head and opened eyes milky with cataracts, but the tilt of his head made it obvious he was aware of Castiel's presence.

"I must find someone," Castiel said in Tibetan.

"Three things cannot be long hidden,” the monk’s voice was thin as rice paper. “The sun, the moon, and the truth.”

"With respect," Castiel said, leaning forward in his urgency. "I cannot wait for Him to reveal Himself."

The monk's spine bowed, and his chin dropped to his chest. Castiel opened his mouth to speak, but the Reaper placed a hand on his shoulder. When Castiel looked up, the monk's soul was standing next to the Reaper, the body in front of him now an empty shell.

"I need to know where to look," Castiel insisted. 

The monk smiled and raised one hand in front of his chest. "The way is not in the sky. The way is in the heart."

Before Castiel could say anything else, the Reaper and the monk bowed and disappeared.

The words brought back a memory of riding in the car with Dean.

_"I do know a little something about missing fathers," Dean said._

_"What do you mean?" Castiel asked with a frown._

_"I mean there were times when I was looking for my dad when all logic said he was dead. But I knew, in my heart, that he was still alive. "_

A hot flash passed through Castiel's chest, and his fingers flew to the pendant, thinking for a moment he was near his father, then he realized what it was. Dean was injured and in danger. With a brief sound of fluttering wings, Castiel vanished.

Tensed for action, Castiel appeared in the hotel room, but it was empty. Instinctively, he reached out for Dean, only to be blocked by the Enochian sigils he himself had carved on Dean's ribs to hide him from his kind. Castiel reached into his trenchcoat pocket and pulled out the cell phone Dean had given him.

_"I put my number on speed dial," Dean had explained, tossing him the phone from where he had been unpacking a duffel bag._

_"What is speed dial?" Castiel asked, turning the phone over in his hands._

_Dean took the phone back, flipped it open, and pointed to number three._

_"Cas, just remember D is for Dean," he said._

Standing alone in the deserted hotel room, Castiel pressed number three. The phone rang once, twice, then three times without an answer.

* * *

It was turning out to be a hot, humid morning and Dean was grateful he could wear "field" clothes instead of a monkey suit today. Inside the park ranger's office, the only evidence of air conditioning was a loud hum and the stirring of ropy dust tendrils hanging off the vents. His cell phone went off, and Dean dug it out of his pocket, flipping it open.

"Hey." Dean turned away from the milling visitors and pretended to study a series of historic wildlife photos on the wall.

"I think I got a bead on what you might be hunting," Bobby said. "It's called a Stymphalian Bird."

"What the hell is that?" Dean lowered his voice when a mother toting two kids threw him a glare.

"According to Greek mythology, a flock of man-eating birds that Hercules destroyed as his sixth labor," Bobby sounded as if he were reading from a book.

"You're kidding. I gotta be Kevin Sorbo now?" Dean rubbed his forehead. "Okay, so how do I kill it?"

"Well, according to the legend, Hercules scared them up out of the grass with a rattle, then shot them with a bow."

"That's it?" Dean shrugged even though Bobby couldn't see him. "I got a crossbow in the Impala right now."

"One more thing," Bobby said, just as Dean was about to end the call.

"Isn't there always?" Dean asked, eyebrow rising.

"Those metal feathers, they can shoot them like projectiles."

"Awesome."

"Dr. Hetfield?"

Dean turned around as a man in brown pants with an Anahuac National Wildlife Refuge badge on the shoulder of his tan, short-sleeved shirt entered the front office. The plastic name tag pinned above his breast pocket read Troy Akselrod.

"I'll call you later, Bobby," Dean said quickly, then shut the phone and slipped it into his front pants' pocket.

"Yes." Dean stuck out his hand. "Thank you for seeing me."

As soon as they shook hands and Dean looked into Akselrod's eyes, his Spidey Sense started tingling. Even in the heat, Akselrod's hand was clammy, and he only held Dean's gaze for a few seconds before sliding away. When Dean followed Akselrod into his office, the tingling became full-fledged alarm bells.

The office was decorated with pictures and specimens of exotic creatures. Some looked real, some fake: A two-headed snake, double-faced lamb, a unicorn goat, a hairy fish, something that looked like a cross between a mini kangaroo and a rat, a giant lizard skeleton. Noticing his scrutiny, Akselrod cleared his throat and gestured around the room.

"My hobby is cryptozoology," he said. "You know, the study of hidden animals."

"Uh huh." Dean's eyes narrowed, and he remained standing as Akselrod took a seat behind his desk.

"S-so, here's a map showing where the, uh, incidents occurred." 

Akselrod pushed a map with two red circles across the desk. His hands were shaking, and Dean knew. This was the guy in the security video. This dillhole had brought some kind of monster bird here from who knows where and now people were dead. Anger flared inside him. Every day he had to deal with monsters, and when people like this ignorant ass did something stupid, it just made Dean's job that much harder.

"As I told the sheriff," Akselrod began. "It might have been a large predator bird in the raptor family..."

"Cut the crap," Dean said curtly.

He leaned down with one fist on the desk as Akselrod looked up at him, startled.

"I _**know**_." Dean paused. "You're the one who brought that monster Hercules bird here."

Akselrod stood up abruptly, face pale with shock, and his chair fell over backwards with a loud clatter. Staff and visitors in the front room looked over at them through the large glass window.

"I-I," Akselrod stuttered.

"Where is it?" Dean demanded.

"I told the guard not to open the crate." Akselrod babbled, eyes bulging. "I told him."

"Where is it now?" Dean persisted, ignoring the alarmed voices behind him.

"It escaped." Akselrod's frightened stare shifted past Dean's right shoulder.

"I've called the police, Troy," the receptionist said, stepping into the office.

Dean glanced at her, then snatched the map off the desk, roughly folding it and shoving it in his back pocket.

"People are dead because of you, asshat," Dean growled before striding out of the room.

Squatting down, Dean gathered a handful of pebbles and dropped them into the empty soda can. He gave it a few shakes, and smiled at the sound.

"Rattle. Check."

Standing, he adjusted the strap on the crossbow slung over his shoulder.

"Bow. Check."

He walked around to the front of the Impala and double-checked his position on the map spread out on the hood and held in place with rocks. The Anahuac National Wildlife Refuge was 34,000 acres, but fortunately, all of the attacks had taken place near a wildlife-watching platform off Frozen Point road in the marsh near East Bay. He wasn't going to have to trek far from the Impala.

"Time for the turkey shoot," Dean muttered, stepping off the road into the knee-high grass in the bordering ditch.

Two hours later, Dean was sweating, covered in bug bites and splattered in stinky mud up to his thighs as he slogged his way through marshland. He tried shortening his stride, but it really didn't seem to help as the ground sucked in his boots and he almost lost his balance again. The last thing he wanted was to face-plant in this muck.

"Damn it." 

Dean jerked his foot free and stood resting for a moment, slowly sinking. Walking in this crap was exhausting. His legs ached. Lifting the binoculars off his chest, he looked around, twisting at the waist, but didn't see anything. Holding the binoculars to his eyes with his left hand, he shook the rattle with his right. In a flurry of white wings, a group of wading birds flew up, along with a few other smaller birds. He waited a moment, then lowered the binoculars.

With a loud squawking cry that sounded like one of the herons on steroids mixed with a goose, the grass less than six feet in front of Dean exploded. Unable to pull his feet free, Dean's arms wind-milled as he lost his balance and he fell on his ass with a loud splat. Wind gusted on his face, and flapping above him with a strange chiming, chaffing sound, was a giant bird, gleaming gold and copper in the sun, the backs of its wings black. It had a long, curved neck and a mask like a swan.

It cried out again, a shiver ran along its wings, and two gleaming projectiles flew at him. Dean raised one arm over his face and felt a metal feather bite deep into his forearm, another one hitting the wet ground by his leg. Dean slung the cocked crossbow around and fell onto his back, pulling a bolt out of his boot. Setting the bolt in place, he aimed and pulled the trigger. The bolt struck the bird high in the chest, to the right. Instead of dropping dead, this seemed to piss it off, and a flurry of feather knives sliced through the grass and mud around Dean, another one piercing his thigh.

He managed to jerk his uninjured leg free of the mud to brace the bow for another pull, but the bird rose up in a gust of wind and flew off. Sitting up, Dean wrapped his hand in the bottom of his shirt and carefully pulled out the feathers in his arm and thigh. They looked like deep knife wounds, and immediately started bleeding profusely. Pulling out the Swiss Army knife, he cut off strips of his shirt and made rough bandages. Using the bow as a brace, he levered himself up out of the mud and managed to get to his feet. Dean took two lurching steps, and sank up to his hips. He realized he was actually in a murky, shallow pond, entrenched in mud up to his knees. The pond had been completely hidden since it was densely populated with marsh grass.

Gritting his teeth, Dean tried to pull his injured leg free, tugging at his leg with his hands. If he could just make it to that log over there, maybe the ground would be more solid. Suddenly, the log moved, and he realized it was actually a partially submerged alligator watching him.

Slowly, Dean slid his hand down his leg into the water, then the mud, feeling for the remaining two crossbolts. There was nothing in his boot. Reluctantly, he broke his stare with the alligator to look around at the brackish water. If he'd lost the other two in here, they were metal, so they would have sunk straight to the bottom. Just then, the alligator slid silently the rest of the way into the water and disappeared with a burbling ripple.

"Awesome," Dean said grimly.

Keeping the cross bow in his left hand to use as a potential shield/battering weapon, Dean pulled out the Bowie knife tucked against the small of his back inside his jeans. That was when his cell phone rang.

"What the-"

For a moment, Dean almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation, then he slung the crossbow over his shoulder and dug out his cell.

"Dean, where are you?" Cas' low voice asked.

"The Anahuac National Wildlife Refuge in Galveston, Texas," Dean said quickly. "The marsh near Frozen Point road. Cas, hur-"

Before he could finish his sentence, Dean felt a hand grip his right upper arm. He looked up at Cas squatting in his trenchcoat at the edge of the pond, the sun haloed behind him, his face cast into shadow. Without speaking, Cas pulled on Dean's arm, and a submerged memory dislodged.

_Naked and alone, Dean huddled in the corner of his windowless cell during one of the brief respites between torture sessions. He believed Alastair permitted these breaks only because of the anticipated dread of returning and the time it gave him to miss Sam and Bobby. Dean squeezed his eyes shut and tried to blank out his mind. The only way to get through these times was to not thing of anything. Just be blank. Be nothing._

_A hole dilated open above his head, and Dean flinched away from it. Not yet. He couldn't go back yet._

_"Dean." A voice he didn't recognized called him._

_He peered upwards, and had to squint. An undefined figure hung there, surrounded by shifting tendrils of light that he couldn't quite look at straight on._

_"You're a new kind of demon," Dean croaked. He was perpetually thirsty._

_"I am an angel of the Lord," the light responded._

_Dean laughed, but it came out more like a choked cough. "Right."_

_"You have been chosen, Dean. It is time to depart this wretched place."_

_This was the dirtiest trick they'd played on him so far. But, as long as he was talking to this "angel", he didn't have to go back to the torture room._

_"I made a deal," Dean said. "I can't leave."_

_"Lucifer cannot bind souls to Hell," the angel said. "Only the weight of your own guilt chains you to this prison."_

_Dean frowned. That made no sense. "I don't get it."_

_"Set aside your burden, and you will be free. Make haste, Dean. My presence here has not gone unnoticed."_

_The problem was, Dean didn't know how to set down the burden. Since he was four years old and had carried Sammy in his arms out of their burning home, he had held the burden. He was responsible for his family, and for all the innocents whose lives depended on him beating the bad guys. Every failure that resulted in pain or loss of life, that was on him._

_"I will not be able to reach you again," the angel said. "We must depart now."_

_Taking a deep breath, Dean let go. He felt a great weight lift and suddenly he was so light, it felt like he could float. He stood up._

_"What's your name?" he asked the light._

_"Castiel."_

_Then the angel reached down to grip his arm, and there was a blaze of pain as Dean was lifted out of Hell._

Cas tugged and Dean was pulled free of the marsh. Except, with the knife in one hand and the cell phone in the other, he had no way to brace himself, and he fell forward. Dean grunted as he landed not on grassy mud, but on the hard surface of a gravel road in the shadow of the parked Impala. Cas remained squatted next to him, holding his arm.

Between being unexpectedly teleported from the marsh to the road and the flashback, Dean was hit with a wave of vertigo. Closing his eyes, he pressed a fist to his forehead and waited for the dizziness to subside. The memory of Cas rescuing him from Hell had been completely lost in the confusion of returning to Earth. Dean wasn't sure how to process it, so he shoved it into the room with all the other stuff he tried not to analyze, and shut the door. The hinges were creaking a bit with the strain from the over-stuffed room, but Dean needed to keep his main head space clear to deal with the here and now. He didn't have time for introspective crap.

"I apologize for transporting you without permission," Cas said. "I hope it does not interfere with your ability to... poop."

Lowering his hand, Dean looked up into Cas' sincere face. He laughed and sat up. Whenever Cas was with him, he felt the load lighten. He didn't need to worry about the angel like he worried about Sam.

"Just to be sure, we're driving back to the hotel," Dean said.

He let Cas pull him to his feet, and he hobbled over to the driver's side of the Impala. Opening the door, Dean hesitated, glancing down at his muddy and bloodied clothes. With a grimace, he slid inside.

"Sorry, Baby," he apologized. "I'll clean it up later."

Cas shut the door on the passenger side, and they drove in silence to the hotel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song lyrics are from ”Icarus” and “Wheels” by Kansas.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel watched Dean's silhouette under the sheet and listened to the breathing slow and even out as he went to sleep. It didn't take long for the breathing to become irregular as Dean fell into a nightmare. Sitting up, Castiel went to the other side of Dean's bed and sat on the edge. Reaching down, he touched his fingertips to Dean's forehead, and instantly he stilled, breath warm on the inside of Castiel's wrist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story takes place after “Free to Be You and Me” in the fifth season and before the averted apocalypse.

Hitting the light switch with his elbow as they entered the hotel room, Dean tossed the keys onto the table and immediately started towards the bathroom. He needed to shower and clean out the wounds before he turned into Swamp Thing. With a groan, he pulled his shirt off over his head and dropped it to the floor. He felt disgusting, and the feather-knife wounds hurt like Hell. He didn't want to lose out on the opportunity to hang out with Cas while he was here, though. For him, friends were few and far between.

"I'm grabbing a shower, Cas," he said, glancing back over his shoulder. "If you stick around, we can go get a couple of beers."

"I will stick," Cas said, sitting in one of the chairs at the table.

Shaking his head with a smile, Dean stepped into the bathroom. He turned on the shower, then sat on the toilet seat to pull off his boots and peel away soggy socks plastered to his skin. Standing, he balanced himself with one hand on the sink as he pulled off his jeans and boxers. His arm and thigh were bleeding freely. He couldn't believe he got his ass handed to him by a fricking bird. He peeled the filthy tape off his fingers and dropped them into the waste basket as he stepped into the shower, hissing when the water hit his open wounds. Turning his back to the shower head, he lathered up the washcloth, carefully washing out the cuts before scrubbing the mud off the rest of his body. He was going to have to come up with a better plan for tomorrow. There was no way he could track something that could fly while he was stuck in the mud.

Rinsing off quickly, he dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist. He needed to disinfect and stitch himself up. He grimaced at the thought. He had sewed his own lacerations before, but it sucked. He usually did big, sloppy stitches so it would go faster, then ended up with ugly, puckered scars. Sam was actually better at being Dr. Frankenstein, and it was easier to block out the pain when someone else was sewing you up.

It wasn't until he limped back into the other room and met Cas' eyes, that Dean realized the bathroom didn't have a door, and he'd just stripped in front of the other man. With a shrug, Dean scooped up his duffel back from the floor at the foot of his bed and sat down at the table. Being in close quarters with Sam all the time, modesty kind of went out the window. It wasn't like they didn't have the same plumbing. Even if Cas didn't really use his. Dean dug the first aid kit out of the duffel and set it on the table, taking out the peroxide, cotton, the curved stitching needle and thick thread.

"What are you doing?" Cas asked.

"I'm starting a quilting bee." Dean opened the peroxide bottle. "What does it look like?"

"That is unnecessary," Cas said.

The angel leaned forward, and lightly touched Dean’s hand. He felt a flash of warmth, and the cuts across his fingertips disappeared. Dean looked up, eyes wide.

"I thought you couldn't heal any more," he said. "Didn't Heaven cut off your mojo allowance?"

"I have my own reservoir of power," Cas said. "I can't draw directly on the Source, so it replenishes slowly when I use it. I am not strong enough on my own to heal a grave injury..." Cas’ hand slid up his wrist to his forearm; warmth, then the deep cut closed and vanished.

Dean automatically thought of Bobby's shocked expression in the hospital when Cas had told him he would be unable to heal his paralysis.

"But minor wounds like these pose no problem," Cas concluded.

Before Dean could stop him, Cas reached down and laid his hand on the other gash on the inside of Dean's thigh. Like with his arm, there was a flash of warmth, and the edges sealed and disappeared in front of his eyes. This time, though, the warmth turned into a familiar heat that moved up into Dean's groin. He grabbed Cas' wrist and lifted his hand away while trying to unobtrusively shift his normally wide-legged sitting position. The thin towel didn't help hide his erection. Still, Cas might not notice; he was usually Caption Oblivious about these kind of things.

"What's wrong?" Cas asked.

"Nothing." Dean released Cas' hand and stood up, re-adjusting the towel around his waist and turning away. "You just can't touch a guy that close to his Little Soldier."

"I don't understand," Cas sounded genuinely confused.

With a sigh, Dean turned around and found himself almost nose-to-nose with Cas. The guy honestly had no concept of personal space. Dean reached out to push Cas back, instead finding himself grasping a handful of trenchcoat lapel and jerking him forward the few inches it took for their lips to meet. Dean had no idea why he had done it. Maybe it was the shower wank from that morning, Cas having his back in the marsh, or the random memory of being pulled out of Hell. Maybe it was none of those things. It took a few moments to realize Cas' lips weren't yielding under his, and that in fact Cas wasn't responding at all. 

Of course he wasn't, Dean thought. With an unexpected pang of disappointment, Dean released the trenchcoat and lifted his head, turning away again.

"Sorry, man," Dean mumbled. "Don't know what I was thinking."

"I did it incorrectly," Cas said.

Dean looked back over his shoulder at Cas, who was standing with his arms at his sides, looking like a kid who'd dropped his Popsicle. Dean frowned, remembering the conversation that had prompted the trip to the social club to get Castiel laid.

"Cas, when you said you'd never done any cloud-bumping, you just meant sex, right?" Dean rubbed the back of his neck, still damp from the shower. "You have kissed before."

Cas glanced away. "When angels are physically demonstrative, it is usually violent," he said.

Dean rubbed his face, resting his palm over his lower jaw as he considered Cas. The sensible part of him said to just let this whole thing go, get dressed and hit the bar. The what the hell part of him said it wasn't right to let a friend go this long without being introduced to the finer points of kissing. Ignoring the sensible voice as usual, Dean walked back over to Cas.

"I'll teach you, Cas," Dean said. "But," he paused and raised an eyebrow. "We're only gonna kiss, okay?"

"What else would we do?" Castiel asked curiously.

"Never mind." Dean lifted his left hand to cup the back of Cas' neck.

"Ah. Are you referring to copulation?" Cas asked.

Dean closed his eyes briefly and sighed. "Cas, if you ask one more question, we're not gonna do anything at all."

Castiel's mouth snapped shut with an audible click.

"Just do what I do," Dean instructed.

Immediately, Cas' right hand went behind Dean's neck. The warm curve of fingers felt good on Dean's cooled skin and the edge of the cuff kind of tickled. Closing his eyes, Dean tilted his head to the right and bent down the scant inch that separated their heights. He immediately bumped against Castiel's nose since Cas had mirrored the movement. Dean straightened.

"No, the other way-" Dean stopped at the confusion on Cas' face and decided to change tactics. "Just relax."

Dean cupped Cas' face in his right hand and tilted it to the side as he bent down again.

"Close your eyes," Dean said softly.

Even though he couldn't count the number of people he'd kissed in his life, Dean felt his heart hammer as he brushed his lips across Cas'. At the beginning, it was the same as the first brief kiss, but as Dean moved, pressing firmly, Cas' lips warmed and softened beneath his own.

"Open your mouth a little," Dean whispered.

Castiel obeyed, and Dean's fingers moved into Cas' short hair, holding his head more firmly as he traced Cas' lips with his tongue and slipped inside. Cas had an odd lack of taste, maybe because he didn't eat, but Dean quickly forgot about it as Cas' tongue started moving against his. Dean groaned. This was good. He pulled their bodies against each other, feeling the buttons of the trenchcoat press into his bare chest. His dick throbbed as the tongue play became more forceful, and Dean struggled to maintain control.

Reluctantly, he withdrew, lightly biting Cas' full lower lip before kissing it and lifting his head. He looked down at Castiel, who still had his eyes closed, face tilted up and mouth slightly open. Damn. Dean felt another rush of desire.

Cas' eyes opened, dilated pupils making the blue darker than usual.

"Why did we stop?" Cas asked.

"Because." Dean cleared his throat when his voice came out husky. "I'm getting too revved up."

When Cas' frown indicated his lack of understanding, Dean gestured at the bulge under the towel. Cas' gaze dropped down to take in Dean's erection, then to the front of his own tented trousers. He seemed mildly surprised.

"Yeah." Dean bent down and scooped up the duffel bag, dropping it onto the bed. "I don't need three showers today," he said as he started pulling out clean clothes.

"I want to finish," Cas said, almost in Dean's ear.

Startled, Dean straightened up to find Castiel once again inside his personal space. The dude moved like a ninja cat.

"Do you even know what you're saying?" Dean asked. "Do you really want your first time to be with a guy?"

"What difference does it make whether it's a woman or a man?" Cas asked, head tilted.

Dean laughed. "Kind of a big difference, actually."

"Just physical differences," Cas insisted. "If it is with you, Dean, it will be good."

"Damn skippy," Dean said flippantly.

His smirk faded at the earnest expression on Cas' face. Without thinking, Dean reached out and brushed his thumb over Cas' cheekbone, then cupped his face. Smooth-shaven, the skin still had the rougher texture of a man's, the harder jaw line. Before he even realized it, Dean was leaning forward, dipping his head for another kiss.

The muffled ring of his cell phone made Dean stop abruptly. He glanced over at the discarded blue jeans on the bathroom floor.

"Damn," he muttered.

Letting his hand drop, Dean padded over to the bathroom and squatted, carefully retrieving his phone from the muddy, bloodied pants.

"Yo," he said as he flipped the phone open.

"Well, I guess your phone isn't at the bottom of the swamp after all," Bobby said in his ear.

Dean winced. He'd missed a check-in call. Again. Since he was riding on hunts solo now, Bobby had instituted check-in calls when he was on a job.

"Sorry, Bobby," Dean apologized. "Cas showed up and I lost track of time."

"Oh, the wingnut's there?" Bobby's tone changed. "You okay, kid?"

"Yeah." Dean briefly recounted the day's events, stopping short of when Castiel had healed him.

"At least you wounded it," Bobby said. "Tomorrow, you-" Bobby paused. "The other idgit's calling."

Dean's chest tightened. "Sam? Is he okay?"

"If you want to know how your brother is doing, call him yourself." Bobby sighed. "I don't know how I managed to raise two girls."

Before Dean could respond, Bobby hung up. He flipped the phone shut and stood, rubbing a hand against the back of his head. Castiel watched him silently by the bed.

"Let's go get those beers, Cas," Dean said.

* * *

Castiel glanced around suspiciously at the waitresses wearing tight owl-adorned tank tops and orange shorts that rode up so high the lower half of their buttocks were revealed. Dean had sworn this was simply a male-friendly restaurant and not an actual den of inequity. Dean had ordered them beer, something called barbecue wings that appeared to be roasted fowl, and fried pickles.

"So, where've you been?" Dean asked before taking a swig of beer.

The silver ring on his right ring finger clinked lightly against the bottle. Castiel's eyes followed the line of the hand up the neck of the bottom to Dean's pursed lips. For some reason, Castiel kept finding himself staring at his mouth, feeling the memory of the kisses from the hotel room.

"Before coming here, I was at a monastery in Tibet," Castiel said. 

Dean's eyebrows went up, and he stuffed a couple of fried pickles in his mouth. 

"Cool," he said around the pickles. "Like kung fu monks?"

"Like meditating monks," Castiel responded. 

He wondered how Dean was able to put such large quantities of food in his mouth and still talk. He knew from experience it was not as simple a task as it appeared.

"Oh," Dean sounded disappointed.

Another swig of beer, another handful of pickles. Dean seemed to have no regard for the possible danger to his life from choking. The waitress came to the table, bending over to pick up the empty beer bottles. Castiel's view of Dean was temporarily blocked by her endowments until Dean leaned slightly to the side.

Straightening, the waitress thrust out her lower lip and gave Dean a look before leaving. Castiel frowned. He was aware that his lack of experience in dealing with humanity on a one-to-one basis greatly hampered his understanding of their behavior. He could grasp the broader emotions, but often the subtleties eluded his grasp. He had spent more time with Dean than any other human being on earth. He knew that Dean had a very well-developed, lively libido, and in similar situations to this one, he would have flirted with the waitress. Castiel did not understand why this time Dean did not.

"So, what was Tibet like?" Dean asked, meeting his eyes.

Nor did Castiel understand why he was glad for Dean's discrepancy.

"Peaceful," Castiel said.

Dean laughed. "Yeah, I don't think you'll ever get a job writing travel brochures, Cas," he said.

Castiel didn't know why Dean thought he would attempt to pursue a mortal occupation, but decided it might have been a joke.

"Where were you before that?" Dean watched him around the end of the raised beer bottle.

"The Dead Sea," Castiel said.

"Wait." Dean held out the hand with the beer. "Let me guess. It was... salty."

"Yes," Castiel said, unsure why Dean burst out into laughter.

And so they sat and drank together, Dean asking questions, and Castiel attempting to accommodate him with longer descriptions of his travels. Then, Dean talked about the hunts he had been on eventually up to the one currently in progress for the Stymphalian Bird. Castiel agreed to remain and assist Dean in locating the wounded creature in the morning.

 

By the time they drove back to the hotel, it was dark outside. Castiel sat on the edge of the made bed, unsure why his stomach felt unsettled as he watched Dean move about the small room, getting ready for bed. Perhaps the fried pickle he had eaten at Dean's insistence did not agree with him. Still wearing his trenchcoat, Castiel sat with his hands folded in his lap while Dean, shirtless and wearing sweatpants that seemed in danger of falling off his hips, brushed his teeth in the bathroom. Their eyes met in the mirror. Dean spit in the sink and turned around.

"Are you really gonna sit there in your coat all night, Cas?" he asked.

Castiel glanced down at himself, then back at Dean. "Yes."

"I got an extra pair of sweats and a T-shirt in the duffel." Dean gestured with the toothbrush.

What he was wearing seemed irrelevant, but Castiel stood up and retrieved the mentioned items from the duffel bag and changed into them while Dean finished his toiletries. Castiel turned his head and sniffed his shoulder; the clothes smelled like Dean. Walking back into the room, Dean belly-flopped onto the bed, then reached up and grabbed the little pull chain on the lamp.

"Good night, Cas," Dean said.

"Good night, Dean."

Dean pulled the chain, and the lamp went dark. The streetlight filtering in through the curtain was ample illumination for Castiel to still see Dean as he slid under the sheet and lay down on his side, double-checking the knife under his pillow before closing his eyes. A few moments passed; Castiel heard a dog bark, and a car door shut in the parking lot as he watched Dean.

"Cas," Dean said without opening his eyes.

"Yes, Dean?"

"Lay down."

"But, I do not require-" Castiel started to protest.

"I know. Just lay down." Dean's eyes opened. "You're creeping me out sitting there like that."

Silently, Castiel laid down on his back on top of the covers, and Dean's eyes closed before he rolled over onto his side facing away. Castiel watched Dean's silhouette under the sheet and listened to the breathing slow and even out as he went to sleep. It didn't take long for the breathing to become irregular as Dean fell into a nightmare. Sitting up, Castiel went to the other side of Dean's bed and sat on the edge. Reaching down, he touched his fingertips to Dean's forehead, and instantly he stilled, breath warm on the inside of Castiel's wrist. He remembered the feel of Dean's breath on his face when they kissed, and the heated press of his lips.

Instead of lifting his fingers away, Castiel lightly cupped the side of Dean's face, brushing his thumb over the cheekbone as Dean had done to him. Even in his sleep, Dean responded, turning into the touch like a flower to the sun.

Remembering what Dean had said about him sitting and watching him, Castiel laid down on his side, hand still cradling the cheek. Wishing to feel Dean's breath on his face again, Castiel scooted closer, until their noses were almost touching. The warm gusts of breath only made Castiel want more. Carefully, he tilted his head to the side and lightly touched his lips to Dean's.

Dean's response was immediate and unexpected. Without waking, he threw an arm and leg over Castiel, pulling their bodies flush together.

"Mm," Dean moaned.

Encouraged, Castiel licked Dean's lips, and he immediately opened his mouth, letting Castiel inside. He felt Dean's hand slip under the back of his sweatpants and squeeze a buttock. There was a resulting tingle in his groin, and Castiel felt himself grow erect. Dean pushed his pelvis against his, revealing that he was in the same physical condition.

Suddenly, the groin grinding and buttock squeezing ceased, and Dean's head pulled back.

"Cas?" he asked sleepily.

"Yes," Castiel responded.

Immediately, the hand withdrew from his sweatpants as Dean moved away, lifting his arm and leg off him.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dean sat up on his elbows.

"Kissing," Castiel replied.

Dean rubbed the corners of his eyes with his thumb and middle finger. "Cas, you can't mack on a guy in his sleep."

"I apologize," Castiel said, aware he had transgressed another human personal space boundary.

With a sigh, Dean sat up all the way, knees raised under the sheets. "Cas, you're making this hard for me," he said. "Literally."

Sitting up as well, Castiel looked into Dean's face, but he didn't seem angry. Despite the many mistakes he made in regards to human etiquette, Dean rarely lost his temper with him.

"Fine."

Dean used the tone Castiel recognized as meaning he had made a decision. Leaning over the side of the bed, Dean opened a drawer in the night stand and removed a white tube with blue lettering.

"Take off the sweats, Cas," Dean said, pushing back the sheets.

Castiel complied, dropping them to the floor. Rising up onto his knees, Dean knelt between Castiel's legs. Castiel was curious about the tube, but Dean dropped it onto the bed by his knee and grabbed the hem of Castiel’s T-shirt, pulling it up over his head and tossing it over the side of the bed. Dean’s eyes dropped to the pendant, which Castiel had not removed since he taken custody of it. Dean touched the brass pendant, tracing the leather cord up to Castiel’s neck, and cupping the side of his face. Castiel saw a flash of green beneath thick lashes, then Dean's lips were pressed against his. Castiel lifted his hands to touch Dean's shoulders, and unbraced, fell backward onto the bed with Dean on top of him. At the last moment, Dean released him and caught himself on his elbows, body held inches over him, without breaking the kiss. Mouths open now, Dean's tongue rolled slowly inside his mouth, and although he didn't need to eat, Castiel was beginning to understand the concept of hunger. He wanted to consume and be devoured at the same time by Dean's demanding lips.

Then Dean lowered himself so their bodies were touching, and Castiel gasped into the other's mouth at the feel of their bare chests pressed together and the warmth of Dean's skin. He could even feel the heat through Dean's sweats as his pelvis met Castiel's, the soft fabric rubbing against his bare genitals. Kissing like this, with the solid weight of Dean's muscular body pushing him into the bed, was completely different than before. Castiel found himself unable to catch his breath, and he started to feel lightheaded.

Dean's tongue withdrew, and he nuzzled at Castiel's neck, the rough of beard shadow lightly abrasing the sensitive skin, instantly resulting in goosebumps. Without even thinking, Castiel turned his head to bare his neck in surrender, and was rewarded with more kisses and light bites, then warm breath was in his ear.

"You okay, Cas?" Dean whispered, his voice low and husky.

"Yes." Castiel shivered.

"Your heart is beating like a jackhammer," Dean murmured.

Frowning, Castiel realized Dean was right. He could feel his heart beating hard and fast beneath Dean's steady rhythm.

"It's okay," Dean said. "We're not gonna fuck. Just a hand-job, okay?"

"Okay," Castiel said, even though he had no idea what a hand-job was.

Dean kissed the side of his neck, then his collarbone, and he started sliding down Castiel's body, causing all sorts of interesting sensations at the light friction on certain parts. Dean sat up on his knees, and suddenly Castiel felt cooler and lighter at the sudden loss of Dean's body on top of him. Needing to re-establish some kind of physical contact, he reached down and touched Dean's knee with his fingertips. 

Dean had retrieved the tube and was squirting a glistening gel into his right palm.

"Here, bend your knee," Dean said, patting Castiel's right thigh.

Castiel bent his knee and Dean gripped his thigh, lifting Castiel's leg so his calf rested on Dean's left shoulder. The position should have been absurd, but Castiel was instantly more at ease at the increased physical contact. Dean lightly ran his fingers over Castiel's thigh as he breathed into the gelled palm. Castiel was finding the light caresses and the feel of Dean's rough cheek pressed against the inside of his knee quite pleasant and relaxing.

Then Dean reached down and grasped Castiel's erect penis in his right hand. Castiel gasped. He had no idea how incredibly sensitive this particular body part, this small piece of flesh, could be. Holding him firmly, Dean began stroking up with a slight twist of his wrist, then down again, creating a wonderful, slick friction that sent all the blood in Castiel's body to his groin.

Fisting his hands in the sheets, Castiel instinctively started rocking his hips to the rhythm of Dean's hand.

"That's it," Dean murmured. "You're a natural."

Dean altered the strokes, slowing down and squeezing more firmly, rubbing his thumb under the rim, then swirling it over the top. Patting Castiel's raised leg, Dean lowered his left hand out of sight. Castiel felt his testicles gently cupped, then rolled and lightly squeezed. The sensation was exquisite.

"This is gonna feel a little weird, Cas," he said. "But it's good."

Castiel nodded, unable to articulate words. He felt something wet touch his anus, and the rocking of his hips faltered when Dean slipped a gelled finger inside him.  
"It's okay," Dean soothed, kissing his knee.

It did feel, as Dean had said, weird, but not entirely unpleasant. Dean's finger slid along the inside of the tight walls, moving in and out in time with the stroking, and Castiel's eyes closed as he enjoyed the sensation. Suddenly, a molten tingling spiked out from where Dean was touching him.

"Ah!" Castiel half-rose up onto his elbows.

"There it is," Dean sounded satisfied.

"What is it?" Castiel's eyes were wide.

"This?" Dean smirked.

"Ah!" Castiel's toes clenched at another throbbing pulse of pleasure.

"Your prostate." Dean grinned. "Pretty great, huh?"

Dean massaged the prostate with his finger and started fisting Castiel's member harder and faster. Castiel felt the blood throbbing in his groin almost as if it had a separate heartbeat, and a tightening; it seemed like something was about to happen.

"Just let go, Cas," Dean said.

Through the haze of pleasure, Castiel managed to focus on Dean's face, then every nerve ending in his body exploded in bliss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song lyrics are from ”Icarus” and “Wheels” by Kansas.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gripping the edge of the Impala's raised trunk lid, he glanced at Castiel and hesitated. Should he offer him a weapon? Even doubled over with the agony of instantaneous stomach cancer, Dean had seen Castiel slice and dice with his angel killing sword like a lethal ballet dancer. Even cut off from Heaven, Cas was still packing some angelic heat. Castiel himself was a weapon. God's weapon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story takes place after “Free to Be You and Me” in the fifth season and before the averted apocalypse.

"Earth to Cas."

Castiel opened his eyes and blinked Dean's face into focus. Dean was sitting on the edge of the bed braced on one arm, leaning over him. Castiel's confusion must have been evident, because Dean gave him a lopsided smile.

"I've had a few fainters during sex," he said. "But you're the first one to pass out during a handyman special."

"Is that what you do when you have sex with male partners?" Castiel asked.

"Sometimes. Although, the first time I was fingered, it was by a chick giving me a blow job." Dean chuckled. "I came so fast, I didn't have time to warn her. She was pissed."

"Warn her about what?" Castiel asked.

"That." Dean pointed to Castiel's stomach.

He raised his head, and saw glistening lines striping his abdomen.

"Not everyone drinks protein shakes." Dean started to stand up. "Let me get a towel."

Castiel grabbed Dean's thigh to stop him from leaving. Using a small amount of energy, he pulled a towel from the bathroom, which appeared in his other hand. Dean blinked, then cautiously took the towel.

"That's handy," he said.

Sitting up on his elbows, Castiel watched as Dean cleaned off his hands, then briskly wiped the semen off Castiel's midsection. With more gentleness, he cleaned the gel off Castiel's now spent member and genital area. He started to stand up again, but Castiel still had a firm grip.

"Uh, gonna let go, Cas?" One eyebrow went up.

"I don't think so," Castiel answered honestly.

The other eyebrow rose. "Cas, I need to go to the bathroom to, uh, take care of business."

Sitting up all the way, Castiel gripped Dean's shoulders.

"Let me take care of business," he said.

Dean sighed. "Cas-"

Using his grip on Dean's shoulders, Castiel pulled him onto his back on the bed, simultaneously twisting himself around so he was straddling Dean's waist. Dean's green eyes were wide in surprise. Apparently Dean hadn't read about one of his brothers wrestling Jacob and breaking the mortal's hip.

"Let me take care of you," Castiel insisted.

Dean hesitated, watching him for a minute, then he shrugged, relaxing back into the bed.

"Fine," he said. "Have at it."

Knowing Dean would never rescind his word once given, Castiel unstraddled him and slipped his fingers under the waistband of the worn sweatpants. As he tugged them down, Dean lifted his slim hips and pulled his feet out to help him. Castiel dropped the sweatpants on top of the other pair on the floor.

When Castiel turned back around, he froze at the sight that greeted him. Dean lay with one arm thrown above his head, right leg bent, seemingly completely unselfconscious about the fully erect penis resting on his flat abdomen. The muscular, V-shaped torso and pose reminded Castiel of a virile version of one of the painted figures from the Sistine Chapel.

"What?" Dean raised an eyebrow at him.

"I just noticed," Castiel said, sitting on his knees beside Dean's narrow waist. "That you are beautiful."

Dean stared at him, then laughed.

"You don't have to sweet-talk me." Dean gestured down at his nude form stretched out on the bed. "I'm a sure thing here, Cas."

"I'm not talking sweetly, I'm talking truthfully," Castiel said.

Dean's lips pursed and his eyes narrowed like they did when he wanted to believe, but couldn't quite bring himself to do so. It made Castiel wonder, out of all the lovers Dean had shared this body with, had none thought to tell him he was magnificent? Reaching down, Castiel touched Dean's face, fingertips grazing along the stubbled jaw line, tracing the tendons that protruded when Dean tensed his neck, but he didn't turn away. Castiel continued to the clavicle, sliding across the horizontal lines, hand flattening over the pectorals, thumb rubbing over the tattoo. To his surprise, he could feel Dean's nipples harden beneath his palm. He moved over the ribs, sensing the sleeping power of the Enochian Sigils he had carved into the bones under the thin layer of skin. His hand slid over the flat stomach, ridged abdomen, following the curve of the pelvis to the inside of the straight leg.

Resting his hand on the inside of the thigh, Castiel bent down and kissed Dean lightly on the lips. He liked the way Dean tasted. He also liked the way Dean smelled. Like right now, he smelled like shampoo, soap, the lingering vestiges of after-shave, and there was also a smell that was uniquely Dean. Castiel's mouth followed the path of his hands. He brushed his lips over the jaw line, the neck, pausing over the pulse at the base of the throat. It was beating fast, and he felt a little thrill that he was the cause of it.

He moved down the length of Dean's body, trailing kisses, stopping at the navel. Such an innocuous divot, yet symbolic of one of the main differences between himself and Dean. Dean grew inside another human being, whereas Castiel was created directly by his father. Perhaps this was one of the reasons human beings craved the intimacy of physical contact, a lingering sensory memory of their origin, whereas angels were created alone out of a void.

Impulsively, Castiel dipped his tongue into Dean's navel, and the stomach muscles jumped a little.

"Tickles," Dean murmured.

Castiel moved his head and the tip of Dean's erect penis bumped his cheek. Dean made a soft sound that Castiel had never heard him make before. He tilted his head to look up the length of Dean's body. Dean was watching him, eyes half-closed, mouth slightly open. Castiel wondered if he could make another one of those sounds come out of him.

Resting his cheek on Dean's abdomen, Castiel slid his hand deeper between Dean's legs to cup his balls. Dean's legs fell open a little wider in invitation. Remembering how highly sensitive that area had been on himself, Castiel was very gentle. Dean's eyes fluttered and his breathing sped up, but he remained silent. Releasing the balls, Castiel's thumb traced up the vein along the shaft. The skin there was so soft, like satin, and hot. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger under the head, pushing up against the spongier flesh, and this time Dean made a sound like a smothered groan. Castiel brushed his thumb over the smooth cap, and felt wetness there.

With the hand resting on the bed, Dean pushed the tube of gel towards him. Sitting up, Castiel took the gel. Popping the lid, he squeezed some into his palm. He played with the gooey substance, briefly intrigued by the odd viscosity of it, before returning his hand to Dean's waiting member.

He gently grasped it, covering the shaft with a slow, twisting up and down motion. Then, he stroked lightly, enjoying the sensation of the slickness, the movement of the soft skin covering the hardness, the gel squishing between his fingers.

"You can squeeze a little harder, Cas," Dean said softly. "It won't break off."

Castiel tightened his grip and stroked a little harder. Dean's hips started rocking in time with his hand.

"That's good," Dean encouraged him.

Castiel tried to remember everything Dean had done: the twist at the top of the up-stroke; cupping and rolling the balls in his other hand; brushing his thumb over the head. Dean was fairly quiet, but whenever Castiel rubbed his thumb over the head, Dean would moan in the back of of his throat, and drops of glistening liquid would come out like dew on a mushroom. Curious, Castiel leaned down and licked at one of the drops.

"Cas!" Dean gasped, hips bucking upward.

Castiel glanced up at Dean's flushed face. Licking the tip obviously induced a pleasurable result. He had also liked the taste; salty, and like Dean. Castiel decided to lap up the rest of the drops. He felt Dean's hand rest on top of his head, fingers burrowing to touch the scalp. It felt good. When he had licked the head clean, Castiel closed his mouth over it, sucking while his hands continued stroking the shaft and fondling the balls, which had grown heavier.

The wonderful sounds Dean was making advised him he was proceeding correctly. Then Dean's fingers tightened in his hair and tugged.

"I'm close, Cas," Dean's voice was hoarse.

Castiel continued with what he was doing, and Dean tugged a little harder.

"I'm gonna come," he said. "You don't want to swallow your first time."

Reluctantly, Castiel allowed Dean to pull him away, continuing to stroke the shaft. Almost immediately, Dean came. Castiel felt the member pulse in his hand, and watched as milky fluid squirted out across Dean's spasming stomach muscles. When it stopped, Dean reached down and touched Castiel's hand, and he ceased pumping, releasing the softened penis.

Remembering what Dean had done for him, Castiel leaned over the bed and retrieved the towel, cleaning off his hands and Dean's stomach, and very gingerly, his penis and the inside of his thigh. Dropping the towel on the floor, Castiel glanced over at the other empty twin bed and hesitated. He was uncertain whether Dean would wish him to stay or return. The question was answered when Dean sat up and reached for the sheet crumpled at the foot of the bed.

"Give me a hand," he said.

Castiel shifted off the sheet, moving back to sit next to Dean, straightening out the bed linens on his side . With a flick of his wrists, Dean flared the sheet out to cover both of them. The cool fabric felt good settling on Castiel's warm skin when he laid down. 

Dean smiled at him, and it was genuine, not like the facsimiles he seemed to use so often.

"Are you sure you haven't done this before?" Dean asked.

Castiel nodded. "I am certain."

"You're one hell of a fast learner," Dean chuckled.

Dean checked the knife under his pillow before rolling onto his side, facing away from Castiel. He peered back over his shoulder.

"Don't do anything pervy to me while I'm asleep, Cas," he cautioned.

"Of course not, Dean," Castiel replied.

Apparently satisfied, Dean patted Castiel's hip then rolled back to his side. Castiel frowned, thinking about Dean's habit of sleeping with a weapon. As a warrior, as a solider, he knew what it was to live in a state of alert, to be ready for a fight. But, he had always had the sanctuary of Heaven. Since his Fall, he had discovered how wearying it was to constantly be on the alert for enemies, to be without a safe harbor. Dean had lived in that fashion his entire life, existing constantly in a state of battle-readiness.

Castiel folded his hands on his stomach and watched Dean's back. He seemed more relaxed than usual, falling asleep quickly. This time his slumbers were uninterrupted by nightmares.

 

Rolling over onto his back, Dean stretched out under the sheets. He felt good, really good. And then he remembered what happened last night. He let his left arm fall to the bed beside him, the back of his hand resting on the empty spot without even a hint of lingering body heat. He turned his head. No one was beside him. Sitting up, he looked around the small, dingy hotel room, but it was empty. Cas was gone.

It wasn't totally unexpected. Cas literally disappeared all the time without a good-bye or smell you later. So Dean wasn't exactly sure why it bothered him this time.

"I'm turning into a friggin' chick," he muttered to himself.

Throwing back the sheet, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Pulling a clean pair of underwear and jeans out of the duffel bag, he pulled them on, not bothering buttoning up the fly. Kicking the pile of sweats and towels in the general direction of the dirty clothes from his adventures in marsh land yesterday, he shuffled into the bathroom. As he went through his morning routine, he replayed last night's events. He couldn't believe he had let things go so far. But it had been great, freaking amazing. It had been a long time since he had been intimate with anyone he'd known longer than a few hours of superficial conversation in a bar and even longer with anyone he actually expected to see again.

Cas had been incredible; his reactions to every small thing super-hot. When he was younger, Dean used to have a thing for virgins. Something about being the first one kind of meant they'd be sure to remember him, even if he was only the guy that popped the cherry. Still, they'd remember him. Considering he was only in one place a few weeks or maybe a month or so at a time, it was something to be remembered at all. But, as he grew older, he learned to appreciate experienced partners. Sex became less about trying to imprint himself on some young girl, and more about the release, just having something good after going through something bad.

Last night had brought back some of that virgin kink. Dean had a difficult time restraining himself; even now he was hard just thinking about it. Oh well. It might not go any farther than it did last night. Cas might have fooled around out of curiosity, and now that the itch had been scratched, he might not want to do anything like that again. Dean had seen it happen with Cas before.

Slapping on some Old Spice after-shave, Dean dried his hands on the towel and turned around to leave the bathroom. He took one step and froze. Castiel was standing in his trenchcoat by the table, holding a plate of pancakes and a glass of orange juice.

"I brought breakfast," he said.

Dean smiled. "I can see that."

He tried to ignore the little flutter of happiness at the sight of Castiel. He tried to convince himself he was reacting to the sight of a fluffy stack of flapjacks. Reaching out, Dean tried to take the plate of hot cakes and OJ, but Castiel held on, making the juice slosh a little. Dean looked at him questioningly.

"Dean," he said seriously. "May I enter your personal space?"

Dean's eyebrow went up. This was a guy who, without hesitation, had stepped inside his personal space on numerous occasions, once to Etch-a-Sketch his ribs. What kind of thing would Castiel think he had to ask permission for? Dean took a deep breath.

"Okay," he said, bracing himself.

Castiel leaned in and kissed him on the lips, then straightened. Dean looked at him in confusion for a minute. That was it? With a snort, Dean took the plate and glass, setting them on the table. Then, he gripped Castiel by the back of the neck and kissed him back more firmly.

"Yeah," he said. "You don't really have to ask me for permission to do that. But, you do know you can't go around swapping spit with anyone, right? Just me."

"I understand," Castiel said.

"Good."

They sat down together at the table, and Dean started to tuck into the pancakes. Mm, buttermilk, and drizzled with just the right amount of butter and syrup. They were even still hot.

"And, you shouldn't say anything to Sam or Bobby about it." He took a swig of orange juice. "They don't exactly know that sometimes I sleep with guys, and they definitely wouldn't get you." He snorted, imagining their reactions.

He finished the rest of the pancakes in silence, the metal feather on the table catching his eye. As much as he hated teleporting around, he figured that was probably going to be the easiest way to move around the marsh. Castiel could find the bird, beam him over to where it was, and then he could finish this job and get the hell out of dodge.

Shouldering the crossbow, Dean slipped Ruby's knife under the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back. Gripping the edge of the Impala's raised trunk lid, he glanced at Castiel and hesitated. Should he offer him a weapon? Even doubled over with the agony of instantaneous stomach cancer, Dean had seen Castiel slice and dice with his angel killing sword like a lethal ballet dancer. Even cut off from Heaven, Cas was still packing some angelic heat. Castiel himself was a weapon. God's weapon. Dean slammed the trunk closed.

Mindful of the alligator he'd flirted with yesterday, Dean stepped up to the edge of the gravel road by the ditch.

"Ok. So, this is the plan," he began. "First-"

With a fluttering sound and a popping in Dean's ears, Cas vanished.

"You take off," Dean finished to himself.

Swatting a bug off his arm, Dean wondered if he should just bite the bullet and wade into the tall grass. He squinted up at the overcast sky. At least today he didn't feel like he was roasting inside a Shake-n-Bake bag. Castiel suddenly appeared in front of him, and Dean jerked back reflexively.

"Geez, Cas," he muttered.

"I found her," Castiel announced.

Before Dean could respond, Castiel gripped his elbow. There was a brief lurch of vertigo, then Dean and Castiel were standing on a small, sandy enclave surrounded by clumps of reeds and tall grass. A naked woman was laying on her back, waist-length black hair spread out beneath her. The sun shifted out from behind the clouds, and her skin shimmered like gold metallic paint. Her shallow breathing was labored and she looked sunken in on herself. She was pressing a mud pack to her shoulder, which was seeping blood. It was the same place he had wounded the bird yesterday. Dean's gut clenched.

The woman's eyes opened, and they weren't human; they were large and round like a bird's. She spoke in a language Dean didn't recognize. Castiel responded briefly, and she laughed, then spat at him before saying something else.

"Cas?" Dean prompted.

"She asked who we are. I said you were a human hunter and I was an angel of the lord." Castiel glanced at him. "She wished us both painful deaths."

"Awesome," Dean sighed.

He slowly pulled the knife out. She appeared half-dead already, but he had no experience with this type of monster and it was possible she could heal herself. Hell, he hadn't even known she could shape-shift. Her round eyes followed his movements, but she lay still as he approached. Dean's gut twist became a hard cramp latching onto the base of his spine. He hated killing like this. Quick was better. There was less time for thinking.

In one smooth motion, Dean dropped to his right knee, using the momentum to bury the knife hilt-deep in the center of her chest. The ribcage parted easily. Dean gave the knife a hard twist for maximum damage, then jerked it out as he rose. He took a step back, unsure how this creature would react to Ruby's knife.

She screamed. A bird screech blended with a woman's cry of sheer agony.

Lines of light zigzagged all over her body, creating a feather pattern. Then, her scream was abruptly cut-off as she imploded. Dean reflexively covered his face in the crook of his elbow, and half-turned away. When it seemed like what was going to happen had happened, he lowered his arm, and all that was left of her was a pile of metal feathers.

Walking over, Dean kicked at the feathers, scattering them in the grass, hearing plopping sounds as some of them went into the water. Squatting on his haunches, he cleaned the knife in the brackish marsh water at the edge of the small sandbar. He wiped the blade dry on his jeans before tucking it back into his waistband. As he stood up, Dean noticed a trail in the sand from where the bird-woman had been laying, and a dense cluster of reeds. He frowned. It looked like she had actually dragged herself out into the open; the exact opposite behavior of a wounded animal. Most seriously injured creatures would crawl off somewhere to hide while they recovered or died.

An image flashed through Dean's mind from a TV nature show Sam had made him watch when they were kids. A mother bird, pretending to be injured, had fluttered around on the ground to draw the predators away from her nest. He thought about how the bird woman had watched him, making no effort to defend herself or try to fight back. Drawing the knife again, Dean followed the trail to the reeds and parted them. There was something that looked almost like a basket woven from grass and mud. Kneeling, Dean slit open the top of the basket with the knife. Inside, nestled in moss and grass, were two large eggs. Dean's lips pressed together and he closed the basket-nest. Standing up, he stomped on the eggs without looking down, feeling them crunch and break beneath his boots.

Then he turned to Castiel, who had stood there watching him silently this entire time.

"Let's go," Dean said.

Without a word, Castiel reached out and touched his shoulder and the marsh disappeared.

Dean found himself sitting behind the wheel of the Impala, Castiel in the passenger seat beside him. Unshouldering the crossbow, Dean tossed it in the back on top of his leather jacket, then leaned forward to stash the knife under the driver's seat. He started the car and began navigating his way out of the Anahuac National Wildlife Refuge.

"So, what language was that?" Dean asked.

He really didn't want to talk about it, but he also couldn't stop himself; it was like picking at a fresh scab.

"Greek," Castiel replied.

"I didn't know you spoke Greek," Dean said.

"I speak everything," Castiel said plainly.

Dean glanced over at Castiel to see if he was joking, then remembered it was Cas he was talking to. Dean's cell phone rang. Pulling it out of his pocket, he glanced at the caller ID before flipping it open.

"You didn't tell me the bird could shape-shift into a chick," Dean paused. "I mean, woman."

Bobby sighed. "That part was only an unconfirmed side-note and wasn't included in the accepted mythology."

"Was it some kind of shape-shifter we haven't seen before?" Dean asked. 

"Not exactly. There's a version of the story that says these women refused to show Hercules hospitality-"

"You mean, they refused to have sex with him ," Dean interjected.

"Yeah," Bobby agreed. "And they were turned into birds as punishment."

"Great."

Dean tucked the phone against his shoulder as he used both hands to make a turn.

"Well," he said, reclaiming the phone with his left hand as he continued driving one-handed. "The side-note is now a pile of feathers."

"Good," Bobby said. "You coming back here, now?"

"Yeah. I'll call you when I head out," Dean said.

"Be careful, kid," Bobby said before hanging up.

Dean flipped the phone closed and slipped it back into his pocket. Basically, he'd just ganked a chick who'd been cursed because she didn't want to be raped.

"Awesome," Dean muttered.

"You feel guilty," Castiel noted.

"Always," Dean said without looking over.

"Why? We are soldiers. Killing is necessary," Castiel sounded genuinely puzzled.

"It doesn't mean I have to like it," Dean said.

The image of the mother bird fluttering in the dirt, dragging her wing, flashed through Dean's head. His hands white-knuckled the steering wheel.

"I need a drink," he announced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song lyrics are from ”Icarus” and “Wheels” by Kansas.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean just needed to lose himself, do something purely physical with enough intensity that his brain could shut down and he could drop the guilt for a short while. At least until he sobered up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story takes place after “Free to Be You and Me” in the fifth season and before the averted apocalypse.

It didn't take Dean long to find what he wanted. He had a radar for these kinds of places. Parking the Impala, Dean shut off the engine and pulled out the keys. Jostling them in his hand, he looked over at Castiel.

"You won't like this place, Cas," he said.

Castiel looked over at the little hole-in-the-wall bar with several men hanging around outside. It was between a pawn shop and a sex store. He turned back to Dean with a frown.

"Is it a den of inequity?" he asked.

"Not exactly," Dean replied. "But I'm sure there's a whole lot of sinning going on."

"Then why would you choose this establishment to drink, Dean?" Castiel asked.

"Because I need to do a little sinning myself," Dean answered honestly.

The thought of sin reminded him, and Dean pulled out his wallet to make sure he had condoms. One foil square glinted among the folded bills. Damn. Oh well, he'd just have to make do with a single time. He pulled it out and slid into his front jeans pocket.

"I don't understand," Castiel said.

Dean returned the wallet, feeling a stab of guilt at the confusion on Castiel's face. He didn't know how to explain what he was doing. Hell, Sam didn't get Dean's "drunk fucks"; there was no way Castiel would ever understand. Dean just needed to lose himself, do something purely physical with enough intensity that his brain could shut down and he could drop the guilt for a short while. At least until he sobered up. Dean rubbed his temples, closing his eyes.

"Cas, it would be better if you took off. Sometimes a guy just needs-" Dean opened his eyes and realized he was talking to himself in an empty car. "Privacy," he finished.

Frowning, Dean rubbed his ear. He couldn't figure out why sometimes his ears popped when Castiel poofed and sometimes they didn't. Maybe it had something to do with velocity? Angel air dynamics? With a sigh, Dean took off the plaid shirt he was wearing over his T-shirt. Reaching behind him, he snagged the brown leather jacket and shrugged it on. A quick check in the rearview mirror, he ran his hands through his short hair, and he was ready.

Walking up to the entrance, Dean got a few looks, so he knew it was going to be fairly easy to score some action. The inside of the bar was dim, filled with low, throbbing music. It was early, so there weren't that many patrons yet, but that was fine with him. More time to build up a good buzz.

A couple of hours and five beers later, the place was packed. Dean scanned the crowd over the rim of his beer mug. He'd already declined a few offers; he was looking for something fairly specific. Finally, he spotted someone with some potential. About his height, dark blonde, clean-cut looking, wearing a snug t-shirt that showed a slimly muscular physique. More importantly, the body language was right. He was leaning against the wall with one shoulder, beer in hand, hips thrust slightly forward, steady gaze moving over the crowd. Waiting until that gaze moved to him, Dean caught and held it, raising his beer mug slightly. Blonde boy tilted his head to get a better look at him, then smiled and made his way over to the bar.

"I haven't seen you here before," Blonde Boy said, leaning on the bar between Dean and the occupied stool next to him. "I'm Jason."

"Dean. Just passing through town," he responded.

"Buy you a beer, Dean?" Jason asked.

"Actually," Dean said, looking directly into his eyes. "I was thinking this would be my last one."

"So, want to go shoot some pool in the back, then?" Jason murmured.

"Yeah."

Taking a last swig of beer, Dean tossed a twenty on the counter and followed the other man through the bar. To Dean's mild surprise, there actually were a couple of threadbare pool tables in the back room, which was even dimmer than the front since the only light was from the two low-hanging, green shaded fixtures over the tables. However, no one in the room was actually playing pool. Dean kept his eyes averted as Jason went to a doorway covered with a black curtain and knocked on the door frame with the back of his hand. When there was no answer, he parted the curtain and glanced back over his shoulder at Dean to follow.

Dean ducked inside, letting the curtain close behind him. He stood still for a moment to let his eyes adjust. The only illumination in the small room was a red light bulb. In a former life, it was probably an over-sized janitor's closet. It had a cement floor with a drain, unpainted walls and a sink, wooden chair, folding cot, and a trash can. Dean had been in worse.

Turning around, Jason put his hands on Dean's waist and bent his head down. An image of Castiel's mouth flashed through his mind, and Dean turned his face away.

"No kissing," he said.

Jason raised his eyebrows, but shrugged. No kissing wasn't unusual for these types of hook-ups.

"No problem," he said.

Snagging his fingers in Jason's belt loops, Dean pushed him back against the wall and dropped to his knees. He quickly unbuttoned Jason's jeans and unzipped the fly. There was a good-sized mound under the white cotton briefs. He pulled down the briefs enough to free Jason's balls and half-erect cock. This was his least favorite part, but Dean needed a hard cock to get the job done, and after a few guys at the beginning had tried to sneak in barebacked, he always put the condom on himself. Holding the cock in one hand, Dean leaned forward and opened his mouth.

Someone grabbed the neck of Dean's jacket and jerked him to his feet, spinning him around. Dean's hand automatically went to the back of his jeans for the knife that wasn't there before it registered that he was facing Cas. A scowling Cas, his blue eyes narrowed and glinting dangerously.

"This is not drinking, Dean," Castiel said, his low voice flat with anger.

"Hey, I don't get involved in boyfriend drama," Jason said. "I'm taking off."

"Taking off would be wise," Castiel said shortly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Jason hastily tuck himself back in and zip up his jeans before beating a retreat through the curtain. Dean felt a flash of anger at Castiel's interference, fueled by alcohol and his embarrassment at being caught on his knees about to suck dick.

"What the hell are you doing, Cas?" Dean demanded.

"You should not be in this place," Castiel said, stepping inside Dean's personal space.

"Where I go and what I do is none of your business," Dean snapped.

They were standing practically toe to toe, Castiel's unwavering stare locked onto him. Dean reached out and pushed at Castiel's chest. And nothing happened. It was like pushing against an oak tree; he didn't budge a centimeter. Suddenly, Dean realized all the times he had bumped into Cas, shoved and pushed him, it was because Castiel had permitted himself to be moved. 

Without warning, Castiel grabbed a fistful of Dean's shirt and spun him around in a half-circle. Dean winced in anticipation of being slammed into the cement wall. He felt a lurch in his stomach, then the air was knocked out of his lungs as his back contacted with the wall and the hotel room appeared around them. The picture by the door fell to the floor with a crash of breaking glass. They were standing so close, Dean could feel Castiel's breath on his face.

"After everything, you can say that to me?" Castiel growled.

"You don't understand." The anger, frustration and guilt balled up into a hard knot in the base of Dean's throat; he felt like he was choking on it. "You're such a fucking child."

Reaching up between Castiel's forearms, Dean gripped the lapels of Cas' trenchcoat and pulled. This time the other man moved, and Dean closed the distance between them with a kiss. His need was too great for gentleness, and it was a bruising crush of lips and clicking teeth. He angled his head to deepen the kiss, roughly forcing Cas' mouth open wide, and thrust his tongue inside. He'd been wrong before about Cas not having a taste. Castiel tasted slightly of ozone, like breathing deeply outside after a thunderstorm.

He circled Cas around until he was the one backed against the wall, then Dean pushed his hips forward, pressing their pelvises together. Breath hot on each other's faces, Dean rubbed his tongue against Cas', moving in and out, grinding their hips to the rhythm. Releasing the coat lapels, Dean's fingers worked the knot loose in Castiel's perpetually crooked tie, then whipped it off, tossing it on the floor. He made quick work of the buttons, yanking the shirt tails up to get to the ones on the bottom. Then the belt, the clink of the buckle making his dick throb. Leaving the belt in its loops, he popped the pants button and, not willing to separate their bodies enough to make room for his hand, forced the zipper down by jerking open the fly.

Running his hands up Cas' bare chest, he thumbed the nipples, making Cas gasp inside his mouth. His hands slid under the trenchcoat around Cas' ribcage, down his back, then under the waistband of his pants and underwear to cup his ass. He squeezed firmly, making Cas groan, and Dean hungrily swallowed the sound. He squeezed in time to the pelvic grinding and tongue thrusting, undulating his whole body against Castiel's. 

Castiel's breathing, already fast, faltered into erratic gasps muffled inside the suffocating kiss. Dean withdrew his tongue, and latched onto Cas' ear, sucking on the soft earlobe.

"Hah," the cry was breathy.

Dean had done enough dry-humping to tell Cas was close. 

"Come for me, Cas," Dean whispered in his ear.

"Ah!"

Castiel's ass muscles tightened under Dean's hands as his hips locked outward, and his head fell forward onto Dean's shoulder. Castiel's body shook a moment, then he was still except for his heaving chest. His breath was hot on Dean's neck. Sliding his hands out of Castiel's pants, Dean straightened, which made Castiel raise his head. There were red marks on Castiel's bared chest from the zipper on Dean's leather jacket and blood on his swollen mouth where the rough kiss had split his lower lip. Bending down, Dean sucked at the lip, the salty, coppery taste of blood mixing with ozone. He licked his own lips, looking down into Castiel's half-closed eyes.

He should stop now, before Cas saw anymore of this side of him. No, it was already too late.

Reaching up, Dean grabbed the sides of the trenchcoat and shirt collars and pulled them down to Castiel's elbows. Then he realized Cas still had one hand fisted in the front of his shirt. Reaching up, he opened Castiel's fingers and, holding his gaze, licked the middle finger before sliding it into his mouth and sucking it. Castiel's eyelids flickered. Releasing the hand, Dean finished pulling the trenchcoat and shirt off, letting them fall to the floor at their feet. He shrugged out of his leather jacket and pulled his t-shirt off over his head. Then he sank to his knees.

He pulled Castiel's underwear and pants half-way down his thighs, exposing his penis, which was still semi-hard. That was a good sign. Using his discarded t-shirt, Dean wiped the mess and gripped Castiel's cock, which twitched in his hand. Dean knew Castiel's lack of experience would make him come quickly the first time, and he needed him to stay hard longer. Dean swirled his tongue over the head and stabbed the tip of his tongue into the hole. There was a double thump as Castiel's hands slammed back against the wall. Dean looked up, and Castiel was watching him, blue eyes dark under the shadow of his lashes. 

Maintaining eye contact, Dean flicked his tongue under the head and ran it along the underside. Then, using as much saliva as possible, he licked the shaft with the flat of his tongue. Making a ring with his thumb and middle finger, Dean stroked up and down the shaft while he sucked the head inside his mouth, flicking it with his tongue.

"Dean," Cas breathed.

Dean liked the way his name sounded when Cas said it like that. Since Cas' cock was fully erect, Dean took it all the way into his mouth, feeling the head bump the back of his throat. Dean didn't have a gag reflex; he never choked on food or cock.

"Dean!" Castiel's hips bucked.

Oh yeah. Dean really liked the way that sounded. He wanted to make Cas call his name all night long. A pang of regret penetrated his driven lust. But that wasn't what he was doing here. It was doubtful Cas would give him the chance again after he used him tonight. He shoved that thought down and concentrated on what he was doing.

Since he was deep-throating, he braced one hand against Castiel's hip and pushed him firmly against the wall so Dean controlled the depth and speed. With his other hand, he rolled Castiel's balls, which where heavy, but still soft and not pulled up against his cock, so he had some time before he'd come again. Good. Pressing his tongue up against the underside of Castiel's dick, Dean moved forward and backward, slow, then fast, then slow, making the rhythm erratic. Ideally, he was trying to get Castiel as big and hard as possible while keeping him from coming.

Dean let Cas' cock slip out of his mouth, pressing the side of his face on the inside of his thigh while he slipped off Castiel's brown accountant shoes and pulled Cas' pants off the rest of the way. Then he slid his hands up from Castiel's ankles to his hips, turning his head to kiss and bite the thigh his cheek had been resting on. As he rose to his feet, Dean's hands moved up Cas' back, and his mouth and tongue moved up the front, occasionally nipping and biting, eliciting gasps from Cas. 

When he was standing again, Dean hesitated, nuzzling Castiel's neck and rubbing his lower back. Normally, when he was screwing guys, he preferred doing it vertically, facing the wall, where there was zero chance of eye contact. It would be a difficult position with Cas' inexperience.

"I'm driving," Dean whispered in Cas' ear.

Castiel turned his head to look out the window at the parking lot, then gave Dean a confused look. Dean closed his eyes briefly and suppressed a sigh.

"Lay down on the bed, Cas," he instructed.

Dean followed Cas to the bed, fishing the condom out of his front pocket. As Castiel lay down on his back, Dean held the foil square in his teeth, unbuttoning his jeans and toeing off his boots. Bending down, he shimmied out of his jeans and boxers. When he straightened, his gaze traveled over Cas, who looked unbelievably sexy laying naked on the bed, face flushed, kiss-swollen mouth slightly open, marked with love bites and abrasions in tender places from Dean's day-old beard, erect cock jutting upward.

Climbing onto the bed, Dean straddled Castiel's thighs. While Castiel watched, he tore open the foil packet with his teeth and removed the condom, rolling it down over Cas' cock. He didn't think they needed the protection; Cas had told him about his vessel being impervious to disease or something like that, but he sure as hell needed the extra lubrication. He wasn't a total masochist.

Castiel appeared curious, but didn't resist or question, he just stroked Dean's thighs and looked up at him, which was unnerving. Dean found a water stain on the wallpaper above the headboard, and focused on it while he raised up on his knees and bent forward slightly, reaching behind him to grip Castiel's dick. He rubbed the lubed tip across his anus a few times, then lined it up and pushed himself back onto it. He frowned at the uncomfortable stretch as the head went inside, and rocked back and forth a bit to make sure Castiel would go in all the way without bending. 

Taking a deep breath, Dean closed his eyes and slammed back and down, impaling himself fully on Castiel's cock. He grunted at the stabbing pain as he felt himself tear, losing his own erection immediately. Bracing himself with his hands on Cas' chest, he lifted up and drove himself down again, the bed creaking under the force. He bit his lip and grunted again, the pain spiking deeper. It was almost enough to override the queasy gut he'd had since he'd he'd driven out of that marsh, but not quite. He started to rise up again, but was prevented by Castiel's hands gripping his hips.

"Enough," Castiel said.

Dean didn't want to open his eyes. This was the reason he faced the wall when he did this. As bad as it was to see the expressions on strangers' faces, it would be a thousand times worse to see it on Castiel's: disgust, derision, pity.

"Dean."

Steeling himself, he opened his eyes. Castiel's steady gaze met his, and Dean didn't see any of the things he dreaded on his face; he just saw Cas, looking concerned.

"I cannot allow you to hurt yourself," Castiel said.

His right hand slid up Dean's thigh and around his waist to touch the small of Dean's back. A circle of warmth radiated out from the base of his spine, and the pain dissipated.

"You don't understand. I need this, Cas." Anger flared in Dean's chest. "Why didn't you just leave me alone at the bar?"

He tried to lift himself off Cas, but the angel had a vise-like grip on his hips. He always forgot how strong Castiel was at the most inconvenient times.

"Let me go, Cas," he demanded.

Castiel sat up, cock shifting inside him, bringing their chests together, and Dean turned his head away. Panic scrambled up his spine. He didn't know how to handle gentleness at a time like this. He had to retake control of this situation pronto. Wedging his hands between them, Dean tried to push Castiel back, but he was an oak tree again.

"Cas, please," Dean begged.

Castiel's hands moved away from his hips, one lifting to cup his cheek, facing him forward, the other lightly covering the burn scar on his shoulder. The light touch on the scar held him as securely as the iron grip had.

"Sex should not be a punishment, Dean," Cas said softly.

They were so close, Dean felt Cas' lips move against his when he spoke. He remembered the feeling of weightlessness, the almost unbearable lightness of being, when Cas had lifted him from Hell. Before he realized it, he had stopped pushing Cas away and had slid his arms around his waist, pulling him closer. He didn't know who initiated it, but suddenly they were kissing. Not with the bruising intensity from earlier, or the tentative exploration from yesterday, but something in between. Neither of them was fighting for dominance, they were just trying to pull the other one closer.

Dean's dick stirred and he felt himself getting hard again. He started rocking his hips as much as he could pressed this close. Finally, he broke the kiss and used Castiel's shoulders as leverage to lift himself up and down, grunting softly, this time in pleasure. It was still a snug fit; Cas was no slouch in the package department, but now Dean had grown used to the stretch and the muscles were relaxed. Castiel's breathing sped up, deepening into a soft moan when Dean lowered himself.

Eyes fluttering closed, Dean experimented with different angles and the rhythm, trying to find his sweet spot. He had never had sex with a guy in this position; usually it was a girl doing a lap-dance on his dick. Castiel's hands smoothed down his back, squeezing his ass, which created a nice tingle. Dean moaned in appreciation, arching his back slightly, which Cas obviously took as an invitation to start kissing his neck and chest. Then his aching cock was enveloped in a warm hand as Cas started jerking him off. Dean opened his eyes and looked down at Cas, who was watching him intently.

"It feels incredible inside you," Cas said.

A retort leapt to Dean's lips, something about not talking to him like he was a chick, but the truth was, hearing Cas say that was kind of hot. Still moving up and down, his own dick being firmly stroked, Dean leaned his head down, pressing his sweaty temple to Castiel's.

"How does it feel, Cas?" he asked softly.

"Tight. And warm," Cas said.

"Tell me to come for you," Dean said.

"Come for me, Dean," Cas' voice was low and husky, and it went straight to Dean's cock.

"Damn," Dean groaned.

He pressed his face into the crook of Cas’ neck and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. Rocking his hips forward one last time into Cas’ hand, Dean came. The release was deep; it was the most intense orgasm he could remember experiencing in a long time. He half-collapsed onto Cas, panting against his neck while Castiel’s hands smoothed over his back in long, slow strokes.

Everything bad that had happened today was gone as if Cas had erased it like all the scars on his body when he’d brought him back. For a moment, they stayed like that, chests pressed together, racing hearts pounding against each other through the fragile confines of flesh and bone. 

But, his legs were starting to ache, and he knew Cas hadn’t come yet. Dean lifted his head and kissed Cas lightly on the lips before straightening.

“My legs are linguini,” Dean said.

Castiel frowned, not understanding, and Dean smiled at him.

“We need to shift positions,” Dean clarified. “You hold the condom.”

Pushing with one hand on Castiel’s shoulder to raise himself, Dean grasped Castiel’s hand and slid it between them, wrapping his fingers around the condom at the base of his dick. Then Dean lifted up all the way, and flopped over onto his back next to Castiel, straightening his legs with a wince. Glancing over, Dean saw that Castiel was still sitting there holding his dick, and chuckled. Sitting up, he gingerly pulled the condom off, grimacing at the streaks of blood before tossing it into the wastebasket by the bed.

“Housekeeping is going to think I’ve been violating virgins,” he joked.

Grabbing the edge of the sheet, he wiped his come off Cas’ stomach.

“Well, I guess I have,” he said with a smirk.

“I have not been violated,” Cas protested.

“Hm.”

Dean turned the hum into a kiss, lightly touching the tip of his tongue to Cas’ and stroking the outside of his hip and thigh. Although the intense feeling after his orgasm had faded, the lightness had remained, making Dean feel playful.

“I guess to really pop your cherry,” he whispered, thumb stroking the crease of Cas’ thigh, “you need to come inside me.”

The thigh twitched under Dean’s hand. With a smile, Dean licked Cas’ earlobe and whispered, “Do you want to come inside me, Cas?”

“Yes,” Cas answered immediately.

“Get the lube,” Dean said.

He sat back so Castiel could lean over and reach into the night stand drawer. Cas glanced at the drawer and when he looked back at Dean, the tube had appeared in his hand. Dean laughed.

“Neat trick, Criss Angel,” Dean said.

Wrapping an arm around Cas’ shoulders, Dean lay back down, pulling Cas on top of him.

“I don’t understand that ref-” Cas began.

Dean cut him off with a kiss, slow and deep. It felt strange to have another man’s weight pressing him down. He bottomed from the top, and any other time he was on his back like this, something was usually trying to kill him. But, it felt good to have Cas’ body pressed along the length of his. He rubbed his hands down Cas’ back, cupping his ass and squeezing. Cas groaned into his mouth and Dean continued kneading, rolling his hips up into Cas’ groin.

Panting, Cas broke the kiss and looked down at him.

“Dean, I need...” Castiel stopped, searching for words.

“I know, buddy,” Dean said, lightly slapping his ass. “Sit up.”

Dean bent his knees with his feet flat on the bed, making room for Castiel to kneel between his legs. When Cas hesitated, Dean bumped his hand with his knee.

“Grease your piston,” he instructed.

Popping the cap, Castiel squirted gel into his palm and meticulously began spreading it on his dick. Dean propped an arm under his head to watch. Castiel started slowly pumping himself, a flush creeping up into his face, and Dean’s cock hardened. It was seriously hot watching Cas touch himself. He considered making Cas masturbate in front of him until he came, but Dean didn’t know if Cas would be able to pitch a third inning.

With a little sigh of regret, Dean rolled over and got on his elbows and knees. It was an easy position for beginners, and he was hoping Cas could figure it out from here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song lyrics are from ”Icarus” and “Wheels” by Kansas.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So often his physical interactions were couched in awkwardness, and it required effort to connect with people, even Dean, with whom he was most comfortable. Walking among humans was isolating. For the first time since he left his garrison, Castiel felt truly connected to another being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story takes place after “Free to Be You and Me” in the fifth season and before the averted apocalypse.

When Dean rolled over onto his knees and elbows on the bed, Castiel stopped lubricating his penis. Up to this point, he had followed Dean’s lead in their sexual activities, except when he had become self-destructive. Even then, Dean had quickly regrouped and resumed the lead. Now he obviously expected him to take control. Castiel quickly reviewed what they had done so far, the fingers of his left hand touching his split lip. Tonight, he had learned how much Dean had been holding back. Previously, he had only seen a fraction of Dean’s passion. Unfortunately, Dean seemed to equate deep passion with pain and violence.

Castiel wondered if he could alter that association, and give Dean passionate pleasure. Resolved, he knelt between Dean’s spread knees. Once again, he was struck by the beauty of Dean’s body. Reaching down with his clean hand, he touched Dean’s shoulder, tracing up the slanted back to the narrow waist. His thumb brushed over one of the dimples at the small of his back before he cupped a round, firm cheek. He spread Dean and slid a slicked middle finger inside, the sphincter briefly tensing, then relaxing. He twisted his finger, pushing on the walls, and Dean’s muscles contracted.

“Ah,” Dean cried out in surprise.

Castiel had obviously found what he had been looking for. He rubbed the walnut-sized bump, remembering the pleasant effect it had on him when Dean had done the same to his prostate. Dean arched his back, making sounds in the back of his throat that Castiel was finding very stimulating. Suddenly, his need to be inside Dean was overwhelming. Removing the finger, he lined up the head of his penis and pushed forward. There was a moment of resistance, then he was past the initial tight ring of muscle. The sight of his penis going inside Dean’s body was unexpectedly exciting, and he pushed in as slowly as possible to make it last. Finally, he was all the way in, pelvis pressed flat against Dean’s buttocks, their balls brushing.

The hot, tight passage squeezing the length of his penis felt incredibly good. Castiel held still a moment to savor it, then he pulled out and slowly pushed back in, intently watching himself move in and out of Dean.

“Cas,” Dean said, looking back at him over his shoulder.

Castiel stopped.

“I’m not going to break,” Dean said. “You can go faster.”

Remembering the expression Dean had used earlier, Castiel raised his eyebrows.

“I am driving now, Dean,” Castiel responded.

Dean pursed his lips, but dropped his head back down between his shoulder blades without saying anything more. Gripping Dean’s hips to keep him from moving, Castiel changed the angle when he went in, aiming for the prostate.

“Nnh!” Dean’s grunt confirmed he’d hit the target.

Methodically, he hit the prostate on every entry, gradually thrusting harder and faster until the room was filled with the sound of their grunts and slapping flesh. Castiel released his grip on Dean’s hips and he started pushing back into Castiel’s thrusts, making him go even deeper. Their bodies effortlessly fell into the same rhythm and pace. Castiel stroked Dean’s back and hips as they moved together, reveling in the seamless synchronicity. So often his physical interactions were couched in awkwardness, and it required effort to connect with people, even Dean, with whom he was most comfortable. Walking among humans was isolating. 

For the first time since he left his garrison, Castiel felt truly connected to another being.

“Cas,” Dean’s voice was husky. “Please.”

At first, Castiel was uncertain what Dean was asking of him, then he saw Dean’s hand moving back. Reaching down, Castiel firmly grasped Dean’s erection and started pumping in time to their movement.

“Oh yeah,” Dean groaned. “I’m so close, Cas.”

Bracing himself on the bed with his other arm, Castiel leaned forward over Dean’s back, feeling the heat rising from the flushed, sweaty flesh. He was close as well. He pressed his forehead to the back of Dean’s shoulder.

“Nnh!” Dean cried out, hips locking.

Dean’s penis pulsed in Castiel’s hand as he came, his body tightening around Castiel’s own member. That final squeezing embrace pushed Castiel over the edge, and a tidal wave of pleasure rushed over him. The orgasm was far more intense coming inside Dean, and when it passed, Castiel’s muscles felt weak and shaky from the hard release.

Not wishing to collapse on top of Dean, Castiel fell to the side, taking Dean with him, bodies pressed together. He flattened his hand against Dean’s chest, feeling the strong, rapid beat, and an overwhelming sense of protectiveness overtook him. He wanted with all his being to protect the man he now held in his arms, by human standards a strong man, but by Castiel’s experience, entirely too fragile.

“Dean,” Castiel whispered.

“Hmm?” Dean cocked an arm back to rest on Castiel’s hip.

“I do not want you to go back to that kind of place again,” Castiel said firmly.

“What place? Oh, you mean gay pick up bars?” Dean yawned, his hand absently stroking Castiel’s hip. “Okay.”

“I am serious, Dean,” Castiel insisted, tightening his grip around Dean’s chest. “You are not to hurt yourself that way anymore.”

“I said okay, Mom,” Dean groused. “Enough with the noise.”

“And-” Castiel stopped.

There was another promise he wished to extract from Dean, but he did not believe he had the right to ask it.

“Yeah?” Dean prompted.

“I am sticky,” Castiel said the first thing that came into his head.

Dean laughed. “That makes two of us, pal.”

Patting Castiel’s hip, Dean rolled forward a little, extricating himself, and Castiel felt a small pang of loss as he slipped out. Sitting up, Dean turned and looked down at him.

“Not for nothing, Cas,” he said, “but that was pretty amazing.”

Bending down, Dean kissed Castiel on the mouth.

“Share a shower?” he asked.

“Yes,” Castiel responded.

Sitting up, he watched Dean climb off the bed and stretch out his torso, pushing clasped hands up over his head. Without looking back, Dean padded into the bathroom, and shortly there was the squeak of pipes and the sound of running water. He thought about the other promise he had almost asked, but held back. In the aftermath of the powerful feeling of protectiveness there had also been a sense of possessiveness. When he had hidden himself from human sight and followed Dean into the bar, into the back room, he had felt the possessiveness then as well. Only, it had also made him angry, which he did not fully understand. He only knew that he did not want that man, or any other man, to touch Dean.

“Do not allow anyone else to hold you,” Castiel said quietly.

“Coming, Cas?” Dean called out.

“Yes,” Castiel responded.

Rising, he went to where Dean was waiting for him.

Castiel walked into the tiny bathroom and was enveloped in steam. Dean was holding the shower curtain open, so he stepped inside the bathtub, Dean pulling the curtain closed behind him. Ducking his head under the spray, Dean let the water run over him, then took the bar of soap and washcloth, moving aside. With nowhere else to go, Castiel stepped under the shower head. Hot water hit his neck and shoulders, making the skin tingle and loosening muscles he didn’t know were tight; it was bliss. Through half-closed eyes, he watched Dean lather the soap inside the washcloth, then scrub the soapy cloth over his body.

“Here, switch,” Dean said, holding out the bar of soap.

Castiel grasped the slippery bar, which popped up out of his hand and fell to the bottom of the tub with a clunk. As Dean moved around him back under the water, Castiel bent down to pick up the soap bar. Dean swatted him on the rear end with the washcloth, and Castiel straightened, surprised.

“Don’t you know you’re not supposed to pick up the soap when you’re in a shower with another guy?” Dean asked with a smirk.

“Why?”

Castiel took the rinsed washcloth from Dean and lathered it up.

“Because he might decide to play hide the sausage with you,” Dean said.

Castiel frowned, unsure of the reference, and slightly distracted by the very pleasant feeling of the soapy washcloth moving over his skin. From Dean’s tone, he gathered the reference was sexual, and it was a small leap to understand what a sausage might represent and where it might be ‘hidden’.

“Do you want to hide your sausage in me, Dean?” Castiel asked.

Dean burst out laughing, holding himself up with a hand on the wall. Straightening, he grinned at him, continuing to rinse off.

“Cas, you’re too much,” he said with a chuckle.

Stepping closer, Castiel reached past Dean to put away the soap and washcloth. Their chests brushed as they switched places again, and Castiel liked the feel of soapy, wet skin. He grabbed Dean around the waist and pulled their bodies together to feel more of it. Dean willingly pressed against him, giving him an easy smile before bending down and kissing him.

“What if I want you inside me?” Castiel asked.

“Man, you’re like a horny Energizer bunny.” Dean laughed. “Right now, I’d have to say it’s been a full day and I’ve got a long drive tomorrow.”

Leaning in, Dean nuzzled Castiel’s neck, hand sliding down to squeeze his bottom.

“But next time,” he whispered, voice dropping into the low, husky register that Castiel’s body seemed to instantly respond to. “You can have whatever you want, babe.”

Tracing up Castiel’s jaw line with his lips, Dean kissed him, sliding inside. Their tongues rolled together, water trickling into their open mouths as the shower sprayed down on them. Castiel enjoyed the intimacy of being inside each other, touching, tasting, feeling. After a few moments, Dean ended the kiss, pulling back slightly.

“We should get out before we lose the hot water,” he murmured.

Using his cupped hands, Dean sloughed water over the soapy parts of their bodies, then turned off the faucet. Pushing the curtain open, he reached out and snagged two towels off the rack, handing one to Castiel. Drying off, they stepped out of the tub. Castiel imitated Dean by wrapping the towel around his waist and followed him out of the bathroom. Dean squatted next to his duffel bag.

“I’m down to my last pair of boxers and sweats,” he said. “So one of us is going commando. That is...” He paused, glancing up at Castiel. “If you’re staying another night.”

“I am,” Castiel confirmed.

He knew he should not linger. He knew he was placing his own selfish desires before duty, but when Dean smiled at him, the lapse seemed justified. He caught the sweats Dean tossed at him and put them on as Dean slung the towel over his shoulder and stepped into the boxers. Standing side-by-side, they surveyed the damage to the bed: twisted sheets stained with gel and various body fluids, including a few drops of blood.

“Okay. Switching beds,” Dean announced.

He retrieved the knife and slid it under the pillow on the side of the bed closest to the door. Pulling back the covers, Castiel sat down on the other side.

“Whoa.” Dean stopped him.

Castiel froze, unsure if he had violated some kind of protocol. Dean walked around to stand in front of him, pulling the towel off his shoulder.

“You can’t go to bed with wet hair,” Dean said. “You’ll catch a cold.”

Castiel opened his mouth to remind Dean that he was incapable of catching a human illness, but when Dean started rubbing his head with the towel, it felt good, so he remained silent.

“There.”

Satisfied, Dean tossed the towel on the floor and dove over Castiel onto the mattress, making the bed bounce with an alarmingly loud creak. Unconcerned, Dean slid under the covers, and when it was apparent the bed was not going to collapse, Castiel did as well.

“Oh, Cas,” Dean said over his shoulder. “Grab the light, will you?”

Turning his head, Castiel focused on the lamp a moment, and it turned off.

“Thanks, Criss,” Dean said, rolling onto his side and facing the door.

“Why do you keep calling me that?” Castiel asked, but Dean’s only answer was a laugh that morphed into a yawn.

Unsure if the personal space rules applied during sleeping, Castiel moved as close to Dean as he could without actually touching him, hand hovering over the dipped waist exposed above the top of the sheet. Deciding against it, he started to withdraw the hand and roll over onto his back, but Dean grabbed his hand and pulled his arm all the way across his waist, scooting backward to close the gap between their bodies. Castiel was amazed at how perfectly they fitted together, chest to back, buttocks to groin, knees bent at the same angle.

“Just don’t grab my dick or anything,” Dean murmured sleepily. “I seriously gotta sleep.”

“I understand, Dean,” Castiel whispered.

Lightly, he pressed his nose to the back of Dean’s neck, inhaling deeply: soap and Dean. Castiel closed his eyes for a moment, imagining what it would be like to fall asleep like this, and then to wake up and have the first thing you see in the world be the person you had laid down with the night before. He wondered, if he were capable of it, what he might dream. He opened his eyes. Dean had already fallen asleep.

A shadow passed over their bodies as a man walked between the parking lot light and the window. Castiel’s eyes moved to the front door. Because he had transported them directly inside the room, the interior latch was open. The doorknob rattled, and Castiel was at the door in a flash. Opening the door himself, he reached through and grabbed the man by the front of his shirt and the hand holding the rifle, slamming him against the wall. He squeezed, feeling finger bones break, and the man cried out, rifle dropping to the carpet with a dull thud. Releasing the broken hand, Castiel raised his fingertips to touch the man’s forehead.

 

Dean snapped awake. Snatching the knife under the pillow, he rolled out of bed into a fighting crouch before it fully registered what had woken him up. Standing in his sweatpants, Cas had Akselrod pinned against the wall, a rifle on the floor between them. When Cas reached up to touch Akselrod’s face, Dean stepped forward.

“Cas,” he said, laying a hand on Castiel’s raised arm.

Cas stopped moving, but didn’t lower the arm.

“He was going to shoot you,” Cas said, voice tight with anger.

Dean felt the rigidity in Cas’ muscles, saw the hardness in his face, and realized he’d been about to kill Akselrod.

“Easy, Cas,” Dean said softly. “He’s not evil, he’s just a moron.”

Giving up on pulling the arm down, Dean laid his hand flat on the small of Cas’ bare back. The unexpected touch made Cas finally look at him, and the arm lowered. Satisfied Cas wasn’t going to zap Akselrod’s brains out, Dean peeked out at the empty parking lot and shut the door. Retrieving the rifle, he showed Cas the safety was still on before tossing it onto the bed. Cas released Akselrod, who crumpled against the wall cradling a hand that was obviously broken. When Akselrod looked up at Dean, his face was streaked with tears.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Akselrod’s voice came out unnaturally high, cracking on the last word. “You’ve murdered a rare and beautiful creature.”

Some of the guilt from earlier returned, but Dean pushed it down. 

“Listen, Ranger Dick,” Dean said. “I did my job. You’re the asshat who brought it here and let it kill innocent people.”

Bending down so he was eye level with Akselrod, Dean poked him hard in the chest with a forefinger.

“If I ever catch you doing shit like this again,” Dean growled. “Not even Texas will be big enough to hide from me. Got it?”

Akselrod stared at him a moment, then jerked his chin up and down once. Stepping back, Dean gestured at the door, and Akselrod bolted like a rabbit. Shutting and locking the door behind the fleeing man, Dean walked over to the window and parted the curtain in time to see Akselrod get into a pick-up truck and lay a trail of rubber out of the parking lot. He debated a moment on whether to find another place to crash for the rest of the night, but decided to stay. He was beat. Crazy was hard to predict, but he didn’t think Akselrod had the cojones to come back and try to kill him. Letting the curtain fall, he turned and found himself inches from Cas. He wondered what had flipped the Terminator switch in Cas’ head. He was pretty sure if he hadn’t intervened, he’d be looking for a good spot to hide a body.

“You should not have let him go, Dean” Castiel said. “He wanted to kill you.”

“That puts him on a pretty long list, Cas,” Dean replied.

He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. He was so tired he could barely see straight, and he definitely didn’t have the energy for an argument.

“I’m going to bed,” he announced.

Moving past Cas, he slid the knife back under the pillow and lay down on his back, closing his eyes. For a moment, he thought Cas might actually just stand there all night giving him the stink eye, but he walked around and got into bed. Dean sighed. Cas was radiating anger, and he had learned it was never a good idea to go to bed with anyone angry. He just didn’t understand what bee had flown up Cas’ skirt.

Dean was sure he had woken up fairly fast, before Akselrod could’ve done much of anything to Cas, or that is, try to do anything. Cas was never in any danger at all. Dean frowned. Cas had kept repeating what Akselrod had wanted to do to Dean. He flashed back on Cas’ angry face when he jerked Dean up off his knees in the bar back room.

Dean looked over at Cas’ profile. He thought Cas had been upset at the “sinning”, but had he actually been... jealous? And just now, was he being protective? Dean gave himself a mental slap. In a lot of ways, Cas was like a child. He didn’t know what to do with new or strong emotions, so they transmuted into confusion or anger. Rolling onto his side facing Cas, Dean touched his waist.

“Roll over,” he said.

Cas glanced at him, but shifted onto his side, and Dean spooned up behind him. Almost immediately, most of the tension left Cas’ body. Dean nuzzled the back of his neck and kissed him behind the ear, stroking his waist and hip, and Cas completely relaxed in his arms. Dean wasn’t good at talking about touchy-feely crap, but he knew how to communicate physically.

“You’ve saved me in every way a man can be saved,” Dean murmured.

With a breathy chuckle, he lightly ran his hand over the front of Cas’ sweatpants.

“And I’ve made you fall in every way an angel can fall,” he joked.

“Dean-” 

Cas started to turn in his arms, but Dean stopped him by tightening his arm around his waist.

“Shh,” he interrupted. “I’m sleeping.”

“If you are asleep,” Cas said, “how can you be speaking?”

Dean responded with loud snoring sounds.

“Dean?”

He kept up the fake snoring until he drifted off into actual sleep.

* * *

_“See the words appear on the wall_  
 _There for every man who's standing tall_  
 _This water's pure, the well is so deep_  
 _The only treasure that a man can keep”_

Rolling onto his back, Dean reached out and slapped off the radio alarm. He glanced over, but Cas was gone. Sitting up, Dean scrubbed his face with his hands and threw back the covers. When he stood up, there were some twinges in his lower back and thighs and his ass was sore, but the aches made him smile. It was way better to wake up sore from sex than injuries from a hunt.

Then Dean spotted the plate of pancakes and glass of OJ on the table, and his smile widened into a grin.

_“Miles to go, and I feel the weight_  
 _Of these chains that I create_  
 _As I climb to the top of the hill_  
 _It draws me still_  
 _And I can't look back”_

Akselrod was packing some of his smaller treasures from his office in boxes when Castiel appeared in front of him.

“How did you get in?” he demanded.

Not bothering to reply, Castiel reached out and touched the man’s forehead. A twist of energy flashed under his palm as Castiel released his soul, and the dead body collapsed at his feet.

With a soft sound of fluttering wings, Castiel disappeared.

_“The heart keeps on burning_  
 _Oh, wheels, wheels, don't slow down_  
 _My soul keeps on yearning_  
 _Oh, wheels, wheels, roll me homeward bound”_

Tossing in Akselrod’s rifle, Dean shut the Impala’s trunk and walked around to the driver’s side, ducking in and shutting the door with his left hand while he hit speed dial on his cell with his right.

“Hey,” he said when the call went through. “I’m hitting the road now. See you in about eighteen hours.”

“Be careful,” Bobby said.

Snapping the phone shut, Dean slid it into his pocket and pulled out of the hotel parking lot. 

_“I'm looking through the eyes of a child_  
 _Like the innocent and unbeguiled_  
 _From the east, and far to the west_  
 _Soldiers conquer in a royal quest”_

Reaching out, Castiel pressed his right palm flat against the cool limestone, kvitelach, prayers written on small pieces of paper, fluttering in the cracks around the large brick. Beside him, a bearded man dressed in black rocked slightly as he muttered the kadish. People believed praying here was like speaking directly into the ear of God. Tilting his head back, Castiel looked up at the top of the Wailing Wall as dawn softened the dark sky from purple to blue. 

“Please,” he whispered.

Castiel listened, but all he heard was the muted voices of the faithful around him, the rustling of paper prayers, and the desert wind blowing sand through the cracks of a destroyed temple.

_One by one, as the seasons change_  
 _I press on in a world so strange_  
 _As I climb to the top of the hill_  
 _It draws me still_  
 _And I won't look back_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song lyrics are from ”Icarus” and “Wheels” by Kansas.  
> The name Dean used as an alias, James Hetfield, is the lead singer for Metallica.

**Author's Note:**

> The song lyrics are from ”Icarus” and “Wheels” by Kansas


End file.
